The Requiem of Remnant
by The Black Mage of Phantasm
Summary: He was not aware of how he got to this new world. He could not see a way to return home. Some might say he had nothing...But they would be wrong. He had his wits, his skills, and most of all his ambitions. And even in a new world, there was still an underworld of crime he could rise to the top of. A golden wind is about to sweep through Remnant.
1. New Beginnings

_**Chapter 1: New Beginnings**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own either JoJo's Bizarre Adventure or RWBY. All rights belong to their respective owners.**_

 _ **Also important, if you have not read JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo because you are currently waiting for the anime version to come out, spoilers are in this story that directly relates to the ending. Read at your own risk.**_

 _It was over._

 _His body and clothes that had once been caked in blood were free of any signs of the red liquid. Bruises that were once present on every inch of his skin had disappeared from existence. Bones that had been crushed and pulverized to dust were now completely restored._

 _His eyes looked around and took in everything. The various buildings surrounding the street he stood on, the bright blue sky, and the radiant sun._

 _And then he looked at his friends._

 _A man with a diagonal grid patterned hat. A girl with pink hair in the shape of a whirl. The people who had supported him throughout this final battle, the two who had stood by his side throughout their strange and dangerous journey. Two people he had grown to care about like the family he never had._

 _The only ones left who had survived along with him against the demon._

 _They were smiling, and they had every right to. They had done what no one thought was possible. They had beaten the man who was practically invincible. The creature so desperate to kill them he went to extraordinary lengths to do so. A man that even he, for a moment, thought would be the end of him, was now suffering through a fate worse than death. After killing so many of their friends, it was fitting that the bastard went through a special type of hell for all of his crimes._

 _They had lost so many people, but now their departed friends could get their long overdue rest. Their friends would not return, but that did not matter; for the animal responsible was dead and their deaths were now avenged. They had finally defeated the malicious demon that had been so determined to stop them. The man that had hurt so many, whether by himself or through his pawns, would never again be at peace. He would never again take pleasure in profiting from the misery of so many people. He had tried to avoid the inevitable to his very last breath but he had failed. With him dead, everything he had ever lived for, the empire he had meticulously built for years, a life full of power, a legion of loyal soldiers. Everything he had ever worked for was now for nothing._

 _Because for a man who was neither dead nor alive, wealth and respect did nothing to help him avoid his tortuous fate._

 _For the first time in what seemed like forever, he too smiled. Their journey had come to an end. They had never given up, and now, they could finally stop. They could stop thinking of ways to outsmart their enemies, stop worrying about being pushed into another life and death struggle, and to stop agonizing over where assassins might be waiting to strike._

 _For they had survived._

 _And he had just achieved his dream._

 _It was over. Finally, after so long, it was over._

 _And he had never been happier in his entire life._

 _He was about to open his mouth to speak. To tell his friends the same news they had no doubt just realized themselves, but he would repeat none the less. For it all seemed like a nightmare they would never wake up from, and it was still shocking that their ordeal had finally ended. He would have told them how glad he was that they had finally won. How they should all feel victorious. For no matter what they might say, it wasn't just him that had beaten the bastard. They had all played vital roles in his defeat. He might have landed the finishing blow, but without his friends, he would not have survived this battle._

 _He would have told them that they needed to make sure to get their other friends' bodies back and give them proper burials. This moment of triumph was jubilant, but that did not mean they could pretend their friends hadn't lost their lives to the demon._

 _Not that any of them could forget._

 _No doubt they had the same thoughts, so they needed to move quickly and preserve their bodies. He would have told them all of this, and throughout his words, they would still hear it. The voice reminding them they had succeeded, a specter of their friends that would say they were proud of them for finally overcoming that bastard._

 _The little sound in their heads that would repeat over and over again, like the noise itself could not believe that it was really over._

 _If he had only had gotten the chance to speak._

 _But before a single word left his lips, he heard it._

 _Nothing around him seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing was out of place. Not the buildings or birds that flew in the sky and not a single object he saw looked dangerous at first sight._

 _Yet his ears could suddenly hear nothing but a menacing screech. The malevolence from the scream devoured the air. He could feel it slowly approaching him with a sadistic grin._

 _He began to sweat, his hands clutching into fists. His muscles began to tense as he felt his breathing become erratic. He never lost his composure easily, only on rare occasions did he ever his emotions run on their wild course freely._

 _But the sudden coldness that engulfed him, even though it was still sunny and warm, told him how dangerous the situation he was in truly was._

 _And for once, he had not a single clue as to what was going on. The screeches only rose in volume with each passing second and they showed no signs of stopping. The malevolence got closer and he could feel it grip his legs. He could not think of any reason why he was suddenly feeling so much dread. He had just beaten a man who held a fearsome power, so why was he so... afraid._

 _He hated to admit it, but right now he was scared. He attempted to seal away his dread so that he could focus, but it was too strong, too massive to completely vanquish. It was like he was being engulfed by terrifying shadows, and as they expanded and slithered around him, they became all the more frightful._

 _He looked to his friends, and they were still smiling. Even though the screams silenced every other sound around them, they didn't seem to hear it. Even though the malevolence was only inches away from engulfing them with its feral smile, they didn't notice. Even though his body was shaking more and more, despite his efforts to stop it, they didn't seem to care. Were they still to overjoyed at killing the bastard hunting them like animals to realize what was going on? No, they couldn't be that blind. His friends were just as attentive as him when it came to even the tiniest of details. And seeing him, a man who always had an iron hold on his emotions shaking like a leave from fear should have immediately signaled that something was wrong. So why then did they not react to-._

 _Suddenly, the screams stopped. They had been replaced by a new noise. One that was so much worse than the shrieks._

 _Laughter._

 _It started off low and deep, chilling his already freezing body as his heart began to slam against his ribs. It was a disturbing laugh; each baritone chuckle held so much malice that he could feel it grip his throat. The menacing darkness that emitted from each chuckle embedded itself firmly into his spirit as his breathing came to an abrupt halt._

 _And the laughter only grew with each second that passed. It became darker, bordering on maniacal, and easily engulfing his thoughts in an immense fear. He had never experienced anything like this before, and it was absolutely horrifying. The only thing he could do was tremble and do nothing. He had just attained power that would make others run away in terror. He had finished a journey no one thought could be completed. He was a man who was closer to achieving his dream than ever before, and should not let anyone dare try to stop him. After everything he had been through, after fighting for so long, he should have been more than ready to face whatever being was laughing._

 _So why was he still shaking?_

 _Why were the howls of laughter so disturbing to him? Why did he suddenly feel like he was staring into the eyes of something more powerful than any other man he had ever faced? Why did it feel like he was facing off against something otherworldly, something that demanded everyone and everything to show it their respect? Why was that underneath the fear drenching his very soul, there were lingering sparkles of awe and admiration for the being that had suddenly appeared._

 _And that was when he realized what he was facing._

 _A monster._

 _A true, unholy, monster._

 _The thing he had fought before, the man who had caused him so much pain, was just that, a man. Every person he had fought against had been the lowest scum the world had ever produced, but they were still human. It was only now that he realized what it meant to be a monster. To be a being that with just its existence can bring others to their knees from unrelenting terror. A creature that could channel malice into the air and use it to suffocate those around it. A being that could use the darkness that was born from its core to rip and gut anyone who it deemed unworthy._

 _A monster that could and would kill anyone that it wanted to. A demented creature that had done so many appalling things; killing him would just be adding to the ever-growing list. To the monster, he was nothing but a speck that was barely noticeable to his great gaze._

 _And such a being was standing right behind him._

 _Suddenly, the world around him changed. The sky, once so blue and bright, had turned into a new color. Now he stared up into a neverending world of purple, and in the sky, he could see the lights from distant stars shining down on him. The ground before him had seemed to turn to water, but somehow he was still able to stand on top of the weak surface and not plunge underneath the seemingly bottomless abyss._

 _And then he saw his friends._

 _Every single one of the people he had fought with now lay on the water-like ground. People he had lost on his journey, men who had accepted him, men who stood by his side and trusted his decision, even men who decided to walk away from their group were there lying on the floor._

 _But the thing that made his heart stop was the fact that they were all drowning in blood. The awful liquid poured from a number of holes and gashes on their bodies, mixing with the glittering water they laid on and giving it a disgusting red sheen. Their bodies were cut like meat prepared by a butcher. Limbs sliced and torn so thoroughly he could see their pink muscles that should have been covered by skin. Large chunks of their flesh were scattered on the ground, and the chunks seemed to rot quickly as a foul smell reached his nostrils. Their eyes were gouged out of the sockets and leaving only bleeding holes in their place._

 _It took everything he had to not let out the bile rising in his throat. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not fall to his knees and stare at the corpses of his friends. For if he did he might never get up again. He took a step back as his shaking grew worse, and the horror twisting and slithering around him only became so much more terrifying. The fear rooted within him grew more powerful with each second, spreading and mangling every part of his body in its vicious grasp. He struggled to even form a cohesive thought, sweat now cascading down his skin like waterfalls. Eyes wide and bulging, his trembling had gotten to the point where he could barely even stand properly._

 _This shouldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. They had just won, they had finally reached the end of their journey. They had beaten their powerful foe and should have been celebrating right now. Instead, he was forced to stare at their lifeless bodies. His two friends who had gone through hell with him were now dead. The only people who he had left were gone. The ones he would have repaid for all their sacrifices and hard work had they all gotten back to where they were supposed to be were now swimming in their own blood._

 _And now he would never get the chance to thank them._

 _Now, his only friends had been killed by a demon far more horrible and menacing than anything he had ever seen before. Now, they had been slaughtered by a monster that was as spiteful as it was powerful. A creature that would take pleasure in seeing those who dared to oppose it descending into despair._

 _He was left alone to face such a being._

 _And he was prepared to do just that._

 _His fear was quickly burned to ashes as rage flared and consumed his soul. He would not let this stand; he would not let this go unpunished. His shaking soon stopped as he clenched his hands into fists. His fury was unforgiving and vengeful, flames that would not stop destroying until he was satisfied. He would not let this demon get away with this. Not when he had finally beaten that psychotic man. Not when it had just killed the only two people left in the world he truly cared for. He did not care how malevolent it was. He did not care what kind of abyss it had risen out of. He did not care if he was facing Satan himself._

 _For anyone that dared to make him this furious would face a wrath so blazing it would burn the very ground they stood on. He was prepared to unleash a hell unlike any other on the fool that had just made the biggest mistake of their life._

 _But he never got a chance._

 _For he blinked, and then he felt pain._

 _He looked down, and saw a fist had pierced his chest. His blood splattered against the ground; a distorted painting of red soon forming on the water-like floor. Crimson liquid dripped down from the massive fist, radiating such foul malevolence it assaulted every one of his senses. His world became blurry as darkness rose in his eyes. Slowly, the monster removed its hand from his body, and he felt all control of his legs leave him as collapsed to his knees. He raised a trembling hand to his chest to try and stop the rivers of blood leaking from his body. His efforts were in vain for blood still freely gushed from his wound._

 _When... How?_

 _Agony unlike any he had felt before enveloped his body. He had gone through so much pain on this journey, been forced to suffer at the hands of strange and terrifying abilities, and had gone through torture he sometimes relived in his mind. But no pain he had ever felt set his nerves on fire. No man he had ever face was able to send his body into a roaring torment that caused every muscle inside him to scream. He would be screaming as well, but he was unable to say anything more than muffled gasps._

 _The darkness continued to twist and crawl in his eyes. The shining stars did little to illuminate his vision as more blood fell onto the floor. He couldn't believe he had been so careless. He couldn't believe he had been so easily defeated, and he could barely understand how. He never even got the chance to use his powers before the monster had already crippled him. He had been treated like a fly being swatted out of the air; easily killed in one precise hit._

 _He had failed._

 _He had tried not to focus on the cruel despair swallowing his stomach, but even amongst all his pain, he could still feel it. Could feel it biting away at his very essence, could feel the little hope left in his body rot away as he coughed yet another glob of blood. He had never known such relentless anguish in his life. Any chances of avenging his friends had just been crushed. Any chances of winning had now been effortlessly destroyed underneath the monster's boot._

 _And now, he was going to die. He knew that there was no escape. No plans to get him out of this hopeless situation. No last minute inspirations that would allow him to snag victory from the monster so close to snapping his throat in two._

 _No friends to save him when he needed them the most._

 _He wanted to curse at all the unfairness, to scream to the heavens at why he was forced to go through such a hell. But he knew that would be pointless, both because he could barely even breathe, and because it would not change anything._

 _It would not change his reality._

 _And then, as the darkness almost completely engulfed his eyes, and as his heart began to slow down, he heard it._

 _The monster's footsteps as it walked in front of him._

 _And then, it spoke._

 _The voice was so sweet, so inviting that the benevolence from the words wrapped around him like a hug. It was so warm; he thought he was lying beneath the sun on a pleasant summer day. At the same time, the shadows that secreted from each syllable choked at what little life he had left. He could feel the malice created by the demon's mere stance begin to gather around his bleeding from and eagerly await to slice away at the helpless man lying in a pool of his own blood._

 _And for some reason, lying in between the malevolence and the warmth, those words sounded... Familiar to him._

 _ **"MY-."**_

 _He could not make out the rest. For his ears had shut down right after the first word. The darkness distorting his eyes had finally completely enveloped his vision, and the last thing he saw was his own blood mixing with the watery floor as his heart stopped beating._

* * *

A man's eyes shot open and watched the orange sky above. Golden locks of hair were tied into a braided tail that hung from the back of his neck. Hanging over his forehead, his hair was shaped into three swirls while the rest was neatly styled to his liking. A glossy blue suit with a checkered coat tail clung to his slim yet muscular build; equally blue pants covering his long legs. On his collar were bright red wing shaped emblems. The middle area of his suit had a heart-shaped opening, his broad chest revealed to the world. The gap itself was lined with bright red beads of a variety of shapes as it led to a zipper that extended to the bottom of his suit. Two ladybug emblems were located on both the left and right side of the gap; the bright red color of the emblems made the blue of his suit all the more vibrant and striking. Lime green dress shoes, which were well shined and seemed to gleam from the light, decorated his feet as he let out a small groan.

Giorno Giovana shakily rose his upper body. His eyes moved down to glance at his chest.

There was no large wound, nor a fist sticking out of his body.

Cold sweat was falling down his face and dripping onto the ground below him. He brought his arm up to his face and wiped the sweat off with his sleeve. His heart was slamming against his chest; the rest of his body shaking from a cold that engulfed his every limb. He could feel chilling winds brush against his skin, even though the temperature around him was rather hot.

He looked around and saw he was in a rather tight alley. He was laying on top of a pile of black garbage bags, and only now did he notice the stench filling the air. He ignored the smell as best as he could. He looked at the walls surrounding him and the dumpster leaning against the side of one of the buildings.

Where was he?

He slowly moved his legs off the garbage bags before planting his feet firmly on the ground. He rose to his full height, but the moment he stood up his legs wobbled and he stumbled forward. He almost crashed into the opposite wall, but he used his hands to lean against the wall and hold himself up. His legs continued to wobble, deep gasps escaping his lips as he struggled to stay standing. Every limb felt numb; every movement felt difficult and tired. It felt like he hadn't used his body in years. Like his mind had forgotten how to operate his own limbs.

There were no wounds present on his body. His clothes did not have a single trace of blood or tear. Physically, there was nothing wrong with him. But for some reason, he felt exhausted. He wasn't injured, but a phantom pain was enveloping every inch of his body. It felt like he had just awakened after... After...

Flashes of his blood pooling around him entered into his head. He could feel the malevolence from the monster. He could feel fear lodging itself into his soul. His dread began to twist and engulf his body as he could do nothing but lay on the water-like ground. Shadows embodied with malice surrounded him, the cumulation of a dark hatred that slowly extinguished the last embers of his life. He had never felt such cruelty from any living being before in his life and... and...

An image of his friends dead became engraved itself into his mind. It happened right in front of him, and yet he had done nothing to stop it. He was helpless to save the people he loved.

He was sweating again. He brought his arm up to wipe away at the liquid, but this time his limb was shaking.

It was just a dream. There was no way that was real. He had won, they had won and had finally beaten that bastard Diavolo. He knew that for a fact.

He had finally managed to get feeling back into his legs as he pushed off the wall. Now able to stand, he once again looked around the alley. And he noticed that something seemed...off, about the buildings around him.

But he didn't spend much time on that thought. For he was focused on one thing right now.

Mista and Trish. His friends

They were nowhere in sight. Even though he was just with them after beating that bastard, they had seemingly disappeared in an instant.

No... perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had disappeared.

He knew he hadn't been anywhere near an alley after defeating the leader of Passione. In fact, it was almost noon at the time of his demise, yet now it was far later. Now the skies were tinted bright orange as the sun was now setting. It was clear to him that some time had passed since his fight with that bastard. He tried to remember what exactly happened after he had beaten Diavolo.

But for some reason, he could not. He tried to recall what he had done after killing the psychopath, but he could not remember anything that had happened after that moment. Inside his mind, his memories were clouded, lost in a sea of blank images. It was like a fog had entered his mind, and it made it impossible to see what had happened.

Just how did he get here?

No answers came to him. He let out a breath as he began to process this new information. He had regained his composure, and he would not lose it again. Now with a calm mind, he could easily piece together the situation he was in. He had beaten Diavolo, and now, after an unknown period of time awoke in an alley. He could not remember the exact circumstances as to how he got here. And his friends were nowhere in sight.

He let out another breath as he closed his eyes.

Considering all of this, from the gap in his memory to the strangeness of his circumstances, he could only come up with one answer to what brought him to this tiny alley.

A Stand.

A manifestation of will. The essence of one's very soul. A spirit that could aid a man in battle with its fantastic powers. They came in all shapes and forms, each having a unique ability. He had met dozens of users throughout his journey; when it was only months ago he began to think he was the only Stand User in Italy.

Each User he had encountered were deadly fighters the likes of which he had never seen before. Each were vicious warriors that could kill any man if given the opportunity. Diavolo had selected men with this terrifying power to be his personal pawns. Men who were cruel and did not have any form of conscience.

Men who knew they should kneel to their boss. Their loyalty to their leader, some because of fear and other because of respect, made them hell-bent on bringing down the ones who were trying to end their boss's reign.

Of course, some men had taken a stand against their leader. They wanted to stab their bastard boss right where he was most vulnerable.

Unfortunately, he and his friends had to kill these men as well.

They were all dangerous, and several times he had almost died were it not for either his quick thinking or timely intervention from his friends. A Stand user was someone who should never be underestimated. Because if some poor fool thought they were easy prey, then they would be sleeping in a shallow grave before they knew it.

Which was why his muscles tensed and his eyes narrowed to the mouth of the alley.

It would make sense for a man who was the head of a criminal organization to have one last card should he find himself helpless. One last underling he could call upon should he find himself outmatched against a far stronger opponent. A precaution that should he ever find himself near or already at death's doorstep, he would have one man left to either save or avenge him.

A terrifying trump card that he would use when he had no other options.

It would explain why he couldn't remember how he got to this alley. He could have been brought here by a Stand with the power to alter memory, or perhaps the ability to transport people to wherever the user wanted to in a paralyzed state. The latter would explain why his muscles had felt so stiff before, and both possibilities would offer a reason as to why his friends were nowhere in sight... But there were holes in his theories.

Why he was still alive was one of those holes.

If someone had taken him away from his friends, then why hadn't they killed him as he slept? It was clear that he had been left on top those trash bags for some time, so the supposed Stand user would have had more than enough opportunity to kill him. He was helpless, sleeping, and it would have been incredibly easy to slit his throat. And if there were someone Diavolo had been saving to use, then surely this person would have appeared before their final battle with the boss. That psychopath would never risk exposing himself if he had even one pawn left to use. Diavolo was more than just paranoid. The bastard was always worried someone would find out who he was; it was why he always lurked in the shadows and watched everyone from the darkness. He would never take any risk that may lead anyone to find out his identity.

So there was no way the bastard would ever willingly fight unless he truly did not have any other options.

But still... that did not mean _someone_ wasn't responsible for his sudden lack of memory or his sudden appearance in this alley. It did not mean that he was safe, far from it. He was alone, had no idea where he or his friends were... and the only way to learn more about what happened to him was to get out of this alley.

And there was only one exit. The mouth of the alley was too narrow to make out what was on the other side.

It could have been a trap. There was a very high chance that someone was waiting for him to make his move. Waiting for him to approach the exit and then strike. If there was someone responsible for his situation, then they would not even think about attacking until he fell right into their trap.

Unfortunately, if there was someone out there, he had no plans to play into his enemy's hand.

His blue eyes did not look away from the exit. He knew that when he wanted to, he could be quite intimidating. He had seen the way the sharp lines of his eyes would gain a hard edge. The way his face would tighten and lock away all emotion. He knew that when he wanted to, he looked like a killer. An unfeeling man that would not hesitate to end a life.

For when he got serious, he became a deadly fighter. He had seen how his cold features frightened other people. And If he truly wanted to put the fear of God into his opponents, then he would summon the malice waiting inside his soul. The cruelty he kept in the dark corners of his mind that he reserved for people who succeeded in making him even slightly mad. He would unleash all his cold malevolence on whatever idiot decided it would be a good idea to try and kill him today. He would show this fool what he could do when he turned into a man who did not hold even a shred of mercy. A man that would make the idiots attacking him go through an agony unlike any other.

And after gaining his new powers... There would not be a single trace of them left in this world after he was finished.

He began to walk towards the exit. Hands clenched into his fist as he let out a breath. Footsteps echoed throughout the empty alley; the periodic tapping of his shoes against the concrete was the only thing interrupting the silence around him.

His eyes never left the exit. With each step, he got closer, though he still could not see what was on the other side. There was a bright light shining from the mouth that made it hard to see anything. He was prepared for anything, already reaching inside himself and anticipating the battle he was about to be thrown into. Already planning his actions and developing tactics to deal with his new enemy.

But when he reached the mouth of the alley, he did not see any enemy. When he reached the end, he found the source of the light had come from a streetlight shining down onto the concrete curb he now stood on. His eyes glanced around, trying to see if anything looked out of place. For several moments, he stood on guard, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a user to appear and try and attack him when he least expected it. The moment he thought he was safe would be the moment his enemy would appear. He would not repeat the same mistakes he had made before.

But after a few minutes of waiting, he realized two things. One was there wasn't an enemy. By now after quietly standing on the streets alone, without even calling upon his abilities, the enemy should have attacked him by now. There was no way someone would not strike when it looked like their opponent hadn't even drawn his weapon yet. Also, there wasn't a single person nearby, and if someone had brought him here, they would have picked an area more crowded. Stand Users looked like regular people after all, and if there were a significant amount of them, they could easily blend in and appear to be an average citizen. And then, when their opponent wasn't looking they would run from the shadows of the crowd and strike. It was a basic attack pattern that many of Diavolo's pawns followed. It was effective and concise, a deadly method that had killed many of the bastard's enemies in the past. From his own experiences, striking while maintaining an inconspicuous nature was the preferred method of fighting for a majority of Diavolo's underlings.

But there was also one other thing that almost took away his focus from the possible threat of another Stand user. One thing that made him partially ignore the possibility that someone may try to murder him with horrifying powers most people could not comprehend.

The buildings around him.

The buildings that his eyes slowly glanced back and forth too were not normal. The style, the colors, the structures, everything about the buildings shouted at him that something was not right. The buildings did not have the same feeling as the ones he had grown up with. They did not have the same smell as the ones he saw on a daily basis. Even when he traveled across his country visiting city after city, he still felt that the buildings were familiar to him. Even though he never saw them before, the buildings he saw were still familiar. They awoke an almost nostalgic feeling in his stomach; a lingering sensation that he had visited the city before, even though he knew he hadn't.

But the buildings he saw before him...they did not kindle any feelings whatsoever. The buildings around him felt different from any other buildings he had seen in Italy.

And then there was what was written on the buildings.

One was a tiny store with painted orange bricks. There was a pair of wooden doors leading to the entrance of the store. He could tell even from such a long distance that the doors were old and needed to be repaired. Through the windows, he could see inside the building, and it looked to be some kind of record store. Multicolored casings for the records were on display in wooden rows near the window, though he couldn't quite read the names of the records from where he stood. The lights were off inside the store, which led him to assume it was closed. The words "Can't Stop The Dust" were written in sky blue letters on the face of the building.

Another building was an obsidian black. Long glass windows let him peer inside the building, and it looked like the store was a small cafe. Several small brown tables were scattered on the floor and bright red chairs were stacked in a corner. When he squinted his eyes he could partially make out a counter lined with a variety of samples for snacks inside a glass case. On the roof of the store, the words "Silver's Cafe" was written in bold white letters held up by several metal bars.

Every building he saw had a similar design. Some were bigger, others had different color schemes, and some were far older than the rest and seemed to be deteriorating slightly. But they all had the same architectural core. They all had different names written for any bystander to see for miles away. Names that the people who lived here probably knew by heart.

But the thing that made him raise an eyebrow was that the buildings' names were written in _English._

He knew how to speak and read in English. He knew how to speak and read in a variety of languages. From Mandarin to Portuguese, he knew at least thirteen different languages that he could speak fluently. He had thought it would be a good idea to learn as many languages as he could to help him in accomplishing his dream. A man who spoke in several languages was invaluable. He could imagine several situations where language might become a skill needed should he ever achieve his goal.

But it didn't make sense to see English letters and phrases here. Sure, in Italy, there were some places that named their stores with English words. However, an entire street with stores and buildings written in nothing but English without a hint of Italian was more than just strange. And the fact that every building he saw made a voice in his head whisper to him that something was wrong made him highly suspicious of his surroundings.

It was like...he wasn't in Italy anymore.

And with that thought, he felt the tension in his muscles increase. An unsettling worry had begun to envelop his chest. He did not like what was going on, nor did he really understand what was happening. He couldn't possibly have been removed from his home in an instant. He couldn't possibly have been transported to another part of the world within a few hours. That should have been impossible.

But then he remembered how fragile of a word "impossible" was.

After everything he had been through, it would be foolish to dismiss anything as truly "impossible." He was a man who had a power most would consider fantasy. His definition of what was possible had been greatly expanded since he had begun his journey. The things he had seen had been terrifying to battle against, but they were also extraordinary to witness with his own eyes. A tiny part of his mind had always been fascinated with the sheer diversity of every Stand and the powers they wielded. Even when he was fighting for his life he could not stop analyzing every detail of the personification of souls. Every Stand he had ever fought against had been engraved into the very center of his mind. The things most would deem as "impossible" he had encountered and had killed. He had crushed all of the scum who used their "impossible" abilities to hurt him and his friends.

He had learned that "impossible" was just a word. Nothing more, and nothing less.

But even after everything he had experienced, he would be lying if these new events didn't...frighten him slightly.

He continued to look around. He could feel something malicious crawling within him and expand with every second. He could almost see shadows slowly gathering in front of him. Fear had slipped into his body and moved at a deliberately slow pace within his stomach.

He shook his head. He tightened the grip on his emotions. He was acting illogically. There was nothing to be afraid of even if he was in another country. Even if this was the work of some enemy Stand User, it would not matter. There was no enemy nearby, that much he had already confirmed, and all he had to do was find a way to contact Mista and Trish. Then he could get back home easily.

Assuming he could contact them. Assuming they weren't-.

He closed his eyes as he let out another breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he began to clear out any distracting thoughts inside his head.

He needed to focus. He needed to seal away any emotions that would disturb his calm mind otherwise he could not think. Otherwise, he would be unable to come up with a plan. He sucked in a long breath as he began to process his situation.

He was alone in a foreign location. He did not know where he was or how he got here. He had his wallet, his clothing, his emblems, and nothing else worth noting. None of the objects he had would help him get back home. What he needed was more information. But he couldn't risk staying out in the open for long. While he was sure there were no Stand Users nearby, that did not mean he was safe from possible attacks. He needed to delicately gather information about where he was. He needed to draw as little attention to himself as possible. What he needed-

He saw from across the street a man, maybe in his late thirties, walk out of one the stores. He had on a black t-shirt and blue jeans. He rubbed a hand through long black hair that reached his shoulders as in his other hands he held a ring with about twenty different keys.

-Was to ask around for help.

He walked towards the almost barren stretch of road. He looked back at the sky and saw it had gone from orange to a dark bluish hue. Almost purplish.

He did not dwell too long on that observation. He shook his head as he made sure not to loosen his hold on his emotions. He knew that his face was once again back in its neutral mask. Any fear that was still lingering inside him was now extinguished and fading back into nothing.

He stood only a few feet away from the man. The man had yet to notice his presence; the man's eyes still focused on the ring of keys. He heard the man grumble something under his breath, fingers searching for the key he needed. He continued to stand in silence for another minute until he finally decided to speak.

"Excuse me."

His voice did not hold even a hint of a Japanese or Italian accent. He wanted to make sure that his words were understood completely. It took a bit of effort, but he knew the foreign words leaving his lips sounded as if he had spoken the language all his life.

And when the man heard his voice, his reaction was surprising.

The stranger let out a startled yelp and turned around in an instant. In the man's haste to face him whoever was behind him, the ring of keys slipped from his hands and headed right for his face.

Just before they reached him, he casually caught them with one hand.

"O-Oh crap! Sorry, I-I didn't-."

The man was upset that he had almost hit a random person. Now that he got a good look at the man, he could see his skin was rather pale. His eyes were a deep blue, his jaw a bit angular, and his body thin. He could not tell what nationality the man was from, for the man looked like he could either be Asian or American. His English did not a have a hint of any accent, but for all he knew that could have been because he had adapted to the language. Which meant he could not pinpoint exactly where in the world he was based on this man's appearance and speech alone.

"It's fine, sir." His words interrupted the man's stuttering as he stopped talking. His eyes moved towards the keys in his hand before he calmly extended his arm towards the black haired man.

"It was an accident."

The man looked back towards his keys. Cautiously, he took the keys out of his hands as he gave him a smile. It was shaky, making it easy to tell the man was still embarrassed about what had happened.

"Hehe, Sorry again. I've just been a little..."He paused, and he saw the man's blue eyes glance around the empty street. "Tense, lately."

He did not ask why he the man was so obviously worried. Under normal circumstance, he might have tried a more charismatic approach, striking up small talk and gleaning information from their conversation. But he needed to get his information about where he was as quickly as possible. He would still be subtle, but he wouldn't waste time with idle talk. That way he could figure out the fastest way to get back home and find out what happened to his friends.

Another flash from his dream appeared in his mind.

And he promptly pushed it back into his subconscious. The fingers on his right hand twitched slightly.

"It's no problem. Though, I was hoping you could help me out."

"Huh?" The man raised a thin eyebrow. He finally had his full attention now. "Sure, what do you need?"

"I'm afraid I'm a little lost." He made sure to make his smile a tad bashful, rubbing his head to show a nervous tick he did not have. He was careful not to ruffle his golden hair too much. "I fell asleep on my bus, and before I knew it, I slept all the way to the last stop. So if you wouldn't mind telling me where exactly am I?"

"Oh, sure thing." He pointed with his thumb to somewhere down the street. When he squinted his eyes, he could partially see a street sign. "Right now you're on Zech street, which is right on the edge of the commercial district. I'm pretty sure there's another bus coming soon, so if you wait-."

"Actually, I was hoping you could be a bit more specific."

He could see the confusion engulfing the man's expression as he stared at him.

"I'm actually from out of town, and this if my first time in the city." He once again made his lips move into a shy smile. "I'm not really familiar with any of the surroundings, part of the reason why I'm lost. If it wouldn't be to much trouble, do you think you could give me a little more information about this city."

Pretending to be a tourist sounded like the easiest way to get more information. As a tourist, he wasn't expected to know anything about this city. So, he could ask questions that most would know without arousing too much suspicion. Of course, that all depended on the type of person who he was talking too. For all he knew, the man in front of him could be someone who hated tourist with every inch of his being.

Thankfully, it seemed like the man didn't mind the idea that he was a tourist. The black-haired man gave him a wide smile.

"No problem man. You took the time to visit the Kingdom of Vale, and as its citizen, I should at least give you some background."

He should have smiled. He had just found a man who was willing to tell him information about where he was. Someone who could perhaps ask for help on how to get back to his home.

But he didn't smile.

For the moment those words left the mouth, one thing stood out to him. One word that made him his thoughts pause.

Kingdom.

As far as he knew, there were very few kingdoms left in the world. As far as he knew, those kingdoms still existing did not have buildings designed like this.

He could feel cold dread once again slithering inside him, slowly beginning to engulf his stomach. He crushed that feeling before it could continue to grow. He would not lose to his fear again. His iron hold on his emotions would not break a second time.

But why was it that he suddenly felt scared, if only for a moment? Why did he suddenly feel hesitant about asking this man questions?

"Ah, hold on."

The man's words brought him out of his thoughts. From his back pocket, he pulled out... Some sort of device. It was small and silver, Two handles made of metal with something very thin connecting them together. He had never seen anything quite like it before.

"My names Obsidian by the way. Sorry I didn't say so before."

Obsidian pressed something on the back of handles. And in an instant, they expanded. He could see a translucent panel appear in-between the two handles as its length increased. A small yellow diamond was located near the left handle as the panel stopped expanding. The device was now too wide to hold in one hand, so Obsidian had to use both.

He found himself taking a step closer to the device.

"The Best way to learn more about the city is through visual aid."

He placed one finger on the panel.

And then a blue glow emanated from the center.

He once again took another step, making sure to keep his expression neutral.

For what he saw was... Surprising.

The panel was shining with a white light. Several strange icons, like the ones a person might find on a computer, appeared on the device. One icon looked like a tiny magnifying glass, the other a small world, and one icon looked like an envelope. Several more icons were scattered throughout the panel, but he didn't get a proper chance to view them for Obsidian pressed the world icon. In an instant, the other icons disappeared from the panel. The world icon now took up the whole length of the screen.

And then, it to disappeared as an image of a large city was the only thing left on the panel. The images of the building were dyed in a light blue, looking almost translucent. The buildings themselves came in all shapes and sizes, but the tallest one on the screen was a large, needle-like skyscraper.

He found himself unable to look away from the images.

"This is Vale in all its glory. I mean, not all its glory, no way an image on my Scroll could do that. But hopefully, it will provide... me...with..."

Obsidian was trailing off, the man's words had come to an abrupt halt. He wondered why Obsidian had suddenly stopped speaking. The man seemed enthusiastic about giving him an explanation about the city he was in, so why-.

He suddenly realized his face was only mere inches away from the strange device.

He blinked before he took a step back. Obsidian looked at him with a raised brow.

"You okay?" Obsidian asked.

"Fine," was his immediate answer. He then looked towards the strange device. "But...What is that?"

"What's what?"

He pointed a finger at the device in his hands.

"That."

Obsidian gave him a look. It was a perplexed expression. Disbelief slowly entered Obsidian's features, as if he could not comprehend what he had just asked. As if he was a strange creature that had just popped out of existence. Obsidian's eyes stared at him for a short while before they moved back to the device in his hands.

"You mean... My Scroll?"

"Yes."

The disbelief slowly turned to shock.

"You... Don't know what a Scroll is?"

He did not like the way that question was phrased. Obsidian made it sound like not knowing what a "Scroll" is was something equivalent to sacrilege. But why? He had never seen technology this advanced. Something like this he didn't even know existed until just now.

But the way Obsidian spoke...the man made it sound like it was something as common as water.

He chose his next words carefully.

"Is that surprising?"

He was missing something. Something that the man in front of him knew that he did not. Some sort of information that he needed to know if he did not want to stand out in this city.

"It's just... How have you not heard of Scrolls before? They're distributed across the world."

Were they? If that were the case, why hadn't he ever seen or heard of one?

He could feel a little voice inside his head whispering into his ear that this wasn't right. It was same voice that had always aided him through so many intense battles. Something was wrong. He was missing something very important right now. That "Scroll..." it represented some form of bigger problem. He didn't know what, but there was something strange going on right now.

His eyes that had been hardened by countless battles narrowed. He suddenly analyzed everything that had happened to him and tried to see if there was a linking factor connecting them. He could not come up with anything, but instincts that had been created after fighting for his life so many times were now awake. They told him that there was some connection, but what he did not know.

What was he missing?

"Where exactly are you from?"

Obsidians words brought him out of his thoughts.

"Italy." He answered quickly. He went back to his thought, trying to find the factor that-.

"Italy?"

The confusion in Obsidian's words immediately drew his attention.

"Yes, Italy."

He saw the perplexion on Obsidian's face expand. The confusion wrapped itself tightly around his features as he raised both eyebrows.

"What's Italy?"

...What?

He looked right into Obsidian's eyes. Keeping his expression neutral became a bit difficult.

"You've never heard of Italy?"

That was impossible. Everyone had at least heard of Italy. It was one of the most famous countries on the planet. A person would have to live under a rock or separate themselves from the rest of the world to not hear about his home.

The voice in his mind slowly became louder.

Something was wrong.

"Well, no. But, should I?"

"It's rather famous."

He did not want to say anything that might seem offensive. He needed to keep Obsidian talking. This man hadn't even realized that he was holding information that could help him understand the knowledge other people in this city had about his home.

For if he didn't know what Italy was, someone who for all intents and purposes seemed like the standard example of the people who lived here, then there was a chance that others had never heard of his home. If one person, someone who seemed fairly knowledgeable about the world around him if his knowledge about these "Scrolls" were anything to go by didn't know about his home, then there was a chance. A chance others would share his confusion. A chance that no had heard of Italy or any of its cities. He shouldn't even be considering that idea. That ridiculous thought shouldn't even be a possibility. It should be impossible.

But once again, he reminded himself that nothing was impossible in the strange world he lived in.

"Haven't any of your friends told you about it? Even in passing?"

"Can't say they have. Where exactly is it? Is it some city in Mistral or Atlas?"

"I have never heard of those places."

That was the wrong thing to say. Obsidian eyes widened and he took a step back. The man stared at him as if he was some sort of threat. As if he was dangerous and the man shouldn't be anywhere near him.

"Okay dude, you're starting to freak me out. You're not crazy are you?"

How was he crazy for not knowing every country in the world? Something was going on. There was some key piece of information that he did not have that instantly made the man in front of him wary. Important information that Obsidian believed everyone should know and those who didn't in his eyes were crazy.

But what was it?

He needed to continue this conversation. He needed to convince this man that he was perfectly sane and ease his worries. He had to get his answers now. With every second that passed, he could feel new questions forming in his mind; and these questions consumed every one of his thoughts. The frustration he felt from not being able to answer even a single one of them was slowly rising towards his heart.

His expression still had on the same stoic mask. But he could feel it beginning to slip, if only slightly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but something interrupted him.

Someone let out a loud curse. The voice was deep and rough, unpleasant to the ears in every way. Turning his head to the left, he saw that in the middle of the road about a hundred feet away was a man. The darkness that had only grown as the night progressed made it hard to see what he was wearing. Were it not for his earlier curse, he doubted he could even tell what gender the man was. But there was one thing he could make out through the shadows. Something that seemed to gleam from the distant lights of buildings standing tall on the horizon.

A white mask.

The man then ran. He disappeared as he crossed the street and went into an alley.

"Oh shit."

He turned around to see Obsidian looking at the spot the man had once occupied. Terror was enveloping ever inch of his face. Obsian was shaking, eyes glancing in every direction as if expecting something to come out from the darkness. Like he was expecting someone to come out from the shadows and attack him.

"I-I'm sorry, but I-I can't stay here. Get someone else to help you.

"Wait-."

"I ain't dealing with the White Fang!"

He ran. Obsidian was absolutely terrified; he never looked back as he turned a corner and disappeared.

...What was going on?

He let out a breath and closed his eyes. He had only gotten more questions then answers from his conversation.

He focused on the few things he had learned from his conversation with the black haired man. He was in a Kingdom called Vale. There was technology here the likes of which he had never seen before here, even though the man claimed it was distributed worldwide. And apparently, not knowing what "Mistral" or "Atlas" was is something unheard of.

And, the man in the white mask was someone who belonged to a group called "The White Fang." And whoever they were, one thing was certain.

They were dangerous.

He tried to process what all this new information meant. Why was it he had never heard of a Kingdom with such advance technology? How was it that a man had never heard of Italy?

There was something he was missing. Something that bothered him to no ends.

He could once again hear a voice talking into his ear. It told him the same thing, that there was something he wasn't seeing. Something that could be detrimental to getting back home.

Another image of his dream flashed in front of him. This one of his friends lying dead in their own blood.

His right hand twitched. He stared at it for a moment. He did not like how his composure was faltering. Even if it was barely noticeable to most, he did not like how his body refused to listen to him and maintain its stoic front. He did not like how easily fear slithered out of his grasp on his emotions. It was just a dream. Nothing more, nothing less.

That was it. Just a dream.

They couldn't be...

He clenched his twitching hand into a fist. He let out another breath and looked around at the buildings. He needed to gather more information, and perhaps find a place to sleep. It was getting late. While the moon had yet to rise, darkness had already blanketed a large portion of the city. He was thankful he still had his wallet. He should have enough for a night at a hotel.

So he started to walk.

He was not sure how long he walked through the city. All he knew was that no one was out. He had yet to see another person walking down the streets. He had yet to see even a car traveling down the many roads he walked through. He had expected to see at least some people wandering the roads. In cities like these, with crowded buildings that probably held a lot of people, the nightlife was usually far busier.

It didn't take him long to figure out why the streets were so desolate. From Obsidian's reaction to that man with the white mask, he knew what was the cause for so few people being out at night.

Gangs.

Just like back home.

It was nice to see that other places had the same problem. Comforting to know his home wasn't the only place dealing with organized crime and murder.

The only thing missing was some heroin addict collapsing in the middle of the road. Then this place would truly be like his home.

He made sure to stick to the shadows of the buildings. He constantly glanced behind him and to the side to make sure no one was watching or following him. He would not get ambushed by either a Stand user or a "Fang" member.

Even with his powers, he would not lower his guard.

And as he continued to walk through block after block, street after street, he saw something.

He had no idea what exactly it was, but the first thing he noticed about it was the sound it brought. His ears could hear the air being sliced into a thousand pieces as it approached. Before he could even see it, the noise it brought deafened all other sounds around him. It was a mechanical noise. A sound that was more fitting for heavy machinery at a factory. And the noise only grew with each second that passed.

And then he got a better look at it as it flew in the sky.

It was mechanical. That much he could tell from the black plates that made up its body shining from the lights of the city underneath. It was also massive; the sky itself was blocked from his view with just its underbelly. The main body looked similar to that of a fighter jet, only bulkier and with the nose being more rounded. What he could only assume were two enormous engines were connected to the main hull by large, metallic girders. Two lights were shining from its face down onto the streets below. He took several steps back to avoid the lights from hitting him.

And just as quickly as the enormous aircraft had come, it just as quickly flew out of sight.

Leaving him staring at the space it had just occupied.

...Where was he?

The voice in his mind was unleashing a glass-shattering wail. This whole situation he was in was more than just wrong.

Where on earth was he? Where on earth was there such advanced technology that for some reason he had never heard of before? Where on earth was he that such a massive aircraft could nonchalantly fly so low to a city without dozens of people looking at it in awe?

He could feel his lips moving into a tight frown as his eyes narrowed.

What kind of people has never heard of one of the most famous countries on the planet?

Whatever he was missing he knew now it was far closer than he first thought. Whatever key piece of information he needed he knew was now laughing at his incompetence for having yet to figure out the mystery of this place. He knew it something obvious, something he perhaps had yet to properly analyze, but what was it?

He thought back to the name of this place. The Kingdom of Vale. Why had he never heard of such a place before? A place with technology that was supposedly distributed around the world he should have at least heard once in his life.

He placed a hand underneath his chin.

And what exactly were those other places Obsidian had mentioned? Atlas and Mistral, he believed the man has said. Why exactly did he expect him to know what they were? The black haired man had obviously expected those names to mean something important to him, but why?

He glanced to the sky. He saw the stars, the black veil of the night.

But he did not see the moon.

It should have risen by now. Perhaps he was looking in the wrong dir-

And then he felt something.

With his ability, he could sense life around him. It was limited to a small distance, but he could feel the energy from other living things. From small plants to other people, he could feel their life energy suffuse into his own body. His mind could then tell where exactly that energy came from, and even what kind of organism it was.

And the energy he felt right now confused him.

For it was an energy unlike any he had felt before. It was warm, yet at the same time was surprisingly vicious. It was like the energy was trying to chomp at him with teeth it did not have. It was pulsating; he could hear the strong beats of life imbued into every part of itself ring throughout his body. And underneath those powerful pulses, he could also feel something... Fluffy?

Yes, definitely fluffy. Almost like fur.

The energy he felt right now almost seemed like a combination between man and anima-

"Move!"

He was so distracted by the peculiar energy that he had not noticed the owner of said energy was rapidly approaching him from behind. When he felt something grab onto his shoulder with a somewhat painful amount of force, it had brought him back onto the dark streets of the strange city.

And once he was back in reality, he reacted.

Without even turning around to face whoever was behind him, he thrust his elbow backward. He felt his strike hit solid bone as the person behind him let out a shout. He had hit their chest, most likely near their ribs. He then brought the same arm upward at rapid speeds, the back of his fist hitting what felt like a nose.

He heard something hit the floor behind him. Turning around, he saw that he was standing right in front of the mouth of another alley. And he also saw just who had almost collided with him.

It was a man, perhaps the same age as him, perhaps older. It was a bit hard to tell with all the filth covering his body. His clothes had been ripped to shreds, with all the dirt covering them he could not even make out what color his pants or shirt was. Messy brown hair that had been neglected for some time partially covered his black eyes.

The man clutched at his nose with one hand as he could see a bit of blood dripping down from under his fingers. He realized that he had overreacted. He had been incredibly tense due to trying to figure out where he was and what was wrong with this city that his body had moved on its own. He had reacted as if he were under attack, but by the man's appearance, he could tell that he could not have been more wrong. The man on the floor looked exhausted; he looked like he had gone days without rest. The man's back laid against the wall of the alley as he shakily tried to get back up before sliding back down to the floor. The way the man's breaths came out in gasps told him that he was in pain. And not just from the blows the man had just been hit with.

He took a step and knelt down right in front of the man.

"I apologize, let me help-."

He leaned his head back to avoid a right hook.

"Get the hell away from me!" The man shouted.

"I know you're angry, but please don't move. Your hurt and you need help."

He tilted his head to the right to avoid a punch aimed for his nose. Despite his state, he noticed the man could still throw somewhat fast punches.

"You really should stop wasting your energy." His eyes scanned the man's body again and saw that he had several cuts and bruises hiding underneath the rips in his shirt. And underneath his hair, he thought he saw something... Twitching.

"Piss off!" He could see the anger rising within the man's eyes. Perhaps had he not accidentally hit him, he would have obliged the man's request. But since he had struck the man, he felt at least somewhat responsible. Whether this man wanted it or not, he would help him. He would repair the damage he had caused and then leave.

At least he would have.

A bang echoed throughout the alley. And the man's side erupted in blood.

The man screamed just as his body was sent skidding across the dirty concrete ground. He could see tears spilling from the man's eyes as the man continued to howl.

He turned his head to the other side of the alley and saw what had caused this man's pain.

A man in a white mask.

He held a gun that was pointed towards the now screaming man on the ground. The mask he wore was gray and had two sets of separate eyeslits that hid the color and shape of his eyes, but did expose his light brown skin. The mask covered his entire forehead and parts of his cheekbones, curving around his nose which gave it an angular shape. He also had on a sleeveless white vest, a sleeveless black sweater with the hood pulled over his head and black pants. Black fingerless gloves embellished his hands, and his feet wore combat boots with what looked like metal guards attached to the shins.

The gun in his hands looked like a pistol, and from the barrel, smoke rose into the air. It was painted a gray with red streaks that curved around the handle. It was larger than most pistols he had seen, at least twice the size of the man's hand.

When the man in the white mask spoke, he recognized the voice. It was the same gruff and grating noise that he had heard when he was talking to Obsidian.

"Well, how about that?" With the gun still pointed towards the bleeding man, he took a few steps forward. "A human actually helped me catch your sorry ass? Talk about ironic, right, Maroon?"

Maroon did not respond. He continued to shout in pain as he clutched his wound with both hands. Blood now covered every inch of his hands as it began to pool on the dirty floor.

He was still on one knee as his eyes stared at the man in the white mask. He scanned every detail of the man's body. He only appeared to have one weapon, the gun. He was muscular, far more so than him, but aside from that, there was nothing. For aside from his physique and weapon, there was nothing that could even be remotely considered a threat to him. There was nothing that the man had that could hurt him even slightly.

"Alright boys and girls, let's finish this traitor."

Several more men, each in the same outfit and wearing the same mask as the muscular man, entered the alley. In total there was now seven people standing in the alley, each new member standing behind the brawny man in a line.

"What about _him,_ sir?" He heard one of the members ask. He knew instantly they were referring to him. While he could not see their eyes, he could tell behind their mask they were glaring at him. Their muscles tensed as several of them placed their hands on holsters that held a variety of weapons.

He still had yet to move. His stoic expression remained the same. Blue eyes were still narrowed and gave no hints as to what he was thinking. He stared at the group of uniformed men and examined every one of them.

Some were tall and slim, while others were slightly shorter but still fairly tall. Some had pale white skin while others had far darker skin colors. Some of them had the same type of pistol holstered to their legs while others held... Katanas? Or, at the very least, some kind of sword was sheathed to certain members' backs.

He could take them. None of them were any real threats. It would be easy for him to kill each and every one of them should they try something.

But he still remained on one knee on the floor. He still only watched the group talk amongst themselves as the Maroon continued to thrash in pain.

"Oh, right." The bulky man, who seemed to be their leader, pointed a finger at him. He placed his pistol back into the holster by his knee. "Hey, Human! Since you helped us out, I'm gonna give you a once in a lifetime pass. Run along back to your shitty parents and leave this fucker to us." He smiled. The man's expression promised that should he leave, Maroon would suffer. That the injured man on the floor would be given a punishment worse than death the moment he walked out of the alley.

Slowly, he stood up. He glanced from Maroon and back to the group not that far from him.

"Hey, you're not seriously thinking about staying are you?"

He gave no reply. He did not even blink as his eyes stared at the group of men.

"Because, if you are, well, I can guarantee me and my boys from the White Fang won't exactly appreciate your decision."

He remembered the terror he saw on Obsidians face before he fled. The only reason he had yet to move was because he had to consider what that fact meant. If he killed these men, then there would be consequences.

It was obvious these "Fang" people held some sort of power over this city. Just the mere sight of one had sent a grown man fleeing like a child. He had never heard of the "White Fang" before, but then again, there was a lot of things he hadn't know existed before this day.

And while that bothered him, despite his efforts to lock away his emotions, he had more important matters to focus on.

The only reason he did not act was that he did not want anything to hinder his quest to get home. He could see what would happen should he turn these men to corpses. There was no way whoever was in charge of their group would let this stand. They would not let anyone dare even think about rising against their gang. They would hunt down whoever killed their men with ruthless efficiency.

Just like what Passione would do.

There was no one in this entire city who could pose a real threat to him. Not with his powers. And not with his skills. He doubted that should he kill these unfortunate fools, their leader would be unable to find out who exactly had ended them.

But still, killing these people would lead to undesired complications.

If their leader was smart, they would probably lock down any methods of transportation one could use to escape this city. They would make sure that the murderer of their men could not leave the area unless it was in a body bag. That would delay him. And he needed to get back to his home as quickly as possible. He needed to find out what had happened after he had defeated Diavolo. There was a chance that their deaths would go unnoticed by whoever ran their organization. But he considered that possibility very slim. Leaving the bleeding man behind to die would be the smart choice. It was the best option if he wanted to avoid complicating his situation. He did not have to help Maroon; he did not even know the man. Maroon had made the choices that led him to this point.

He turned and looked at Maroon's dirty face.

Tears spilled from his eyes as he stared right into his. Trembling hands no longer held his bleeding wounds and freely allowed his blood to pool along the floor.

The man had given up.

Maroon thought he was going to die. He thought that this would be where his life would end. In a dirty alley most likely tortured before finally succumbing to his pain.

He could see the sorrow engulfing the man's face. He could almost feel the melancholy that gripped at this man's very soul. His sadness was an almost tangible thing. It filled the alley as with each moment it became more cold and bitter. It kept telling Maroon that these walls would be the last thing he would ever see.

Yet his eyes... They held no emotion whatsoever. Despite the sorrow drenching every inch of his face, his eyes were hollow.

The only thing he could see in the man's eyes was a void.

It was the look of the man who thought that life was nothing but hell.

...It was a look he had so long ago. A look he could never forget.

He let out a sigh.

And then turned and began to walk towards the group.

He did not have to turn around to know that Maroon's eyes were now on his back.

"Is he serious?"

"He can't be this stupid."

"Holy shit he's really doing this."

He heard comments like these being whispered or even shouted amongst the group of men. Some were laughing. Others hands were pulling their weapons from their scabbards or holsters.

The bulky leader was one of the men who laughed.

"Are you fucking serious!? Do you have any idea what your about to do?"

He was about fifteen feet away from the group now.

"Do you have a death wish or something?!"

His pace did not change. Ten feet away now.

"Do you really want-."

"Shut. Up. And. Listen."

He stopped walking.

No one made a sound the moment the words left his lips. The bulky man had stopped laughing.

"One chance."

He could feel it. The malice that always waited and always bided its time inside his mind had finally been released. He channeled it into the air. He used it as a weapon to make these fools see just what they were dealing with. Used it to make these idiots understand that he was the one in control now.

He saw one man was now shaking.

"That's all I am giving you. One chance."

He knew these fools could feel the sharpness of his words. He used the commanding edge of his voice to make them see he was in no mood for their jeers. That he was only one step away from making his move.

"One chance to get out of here. Once chance to leave this man alone and never bother him again."

His eyes were cold.

"One chance to live."

Several men took a step back. He allowed his icy hatred to twist his face into a frightening frown. He could see his malevolence taking shape and dragging these fools back into the abyss it was born from.

Truly, his wrath was a cruel, dark creature.

"So go back to whatever filthy excuse you call a mother, go suck on her teat for the rest of the night, and pretend this never happened."

He took a single step forward. They all drew their weapons, pointing them at him with shaky arms.

The bulky man was the only one who didn't.

"That is your only option."

He could see they were sweating. He could see the way his malice gripped at their hearts. But he would not let his animosity strike just yet. Instead, he waited. Waited for the inevitable. Waited for the moment these fools would make the mistake he had seen so many others make in the past.

The perfect opportunity to show them that there was no escape.

The bulky man's lips moved into a sneer. He took a step forward as he drew his weapon again and pointed it right at the center of his head.

There it was.

"And just what the hell makes you think you can take us by yourself?"

He almost smiled.

"Who said I was alone?"

An aura enveloped him.

The air in front of him glimmered.

And a golden fist struck the bulky man's face with enough force to snap his head in the opposite direction.

The sound of bones breaking echoed through the alley.

And then the man fell with a bloody gurgle.

And he could see his malice shredding what was left of these fools' hope.

He grinned. He then looked at what had just killed the bulky man.

His grin fell.

And his mask shattered. Emotionless features now gave way to widened eyes and an open mouth.

What. The. Hell.

Its skin was as yellow as the sun. Its figure like a human yet so different; Toned muscles evident on every inch of its body. Eyes green and helmet-shaped. Its head in the shape of a helmet a soldier would wear into battle. The upper parts of its chest and arms wore armor that was a darker shade of yellow than its skin. Equally yellow shin guards covered its legs. Wings emblems were attached to the back of its shoulders. Light green ladybug brooches similar to his own were scattered along its body.

It floated in the air as it slowly pulled back its fist before crossing its arms in front of its chest.

Golden. That was the only word he could ever come up with to describe what the being before him emitted. An otherworldly glow that shines brighter than any diamond could ever hope to match. A glimmer that suffused itself into every part of its body. A bright aura of yellow that gave him a sense of ease.

Golden was the perfect word to describe this being. For it held a strength no one else could copy. For it made those around it know that it was a higher being come to deliver pain to anyone he had deemed foul enough to deserve such punishment.

It was a golden warrior that had been by his side for so long.

It was his trusted partner. Gold Experience.

But the reason why he was shocked, the reason he felt his breath hitch in his throat... Was because it was gone.

Its most powerful form was gone.

What had happened to the power that had allowed him to beat Diavolo? Why could he not feel even a hint of the unimaginable strength that had given that bastard a fate worse than death?

What the hell happened to its Requiem?

And then he remembered something. Something that had happened after beating Diavolo.

And his mind was set ablaze by a fiery agony.

"GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

He collapsed onto his knees as he gripped his head. Eyes were wide not from shock, but from an unholy torture enveloping his body. He felt like every nerve was suddenly being pierced. Every muscle was suddenly on fire as he continued to scream.

And then he heard them.

 _"Why are you -?!"_

 _"What the hell-?!"_

 _"How is this poss-?!"_

 _"I'll kill you, you son of a-?!"_

 _"Get away from-!?"_

 _ **"GIORNO!?"**_

Voices suddenly screamed inside his mind. Voices that sounded like his friends, but distorted. Voices that radiated so much pain and fear he could feel it enter his body and drench his soul. And these voices only grew with each passing second. They overlapped with one another, making it impossible to tell which voice belonged to who. He could no longer understand what was being said, but that did not matter. For he could still feel the agony blazing through every fiber of his being. It was like being swallowed by pillars of flames that would never be extinguished. They burned his body in ways he never thought possible before. The pain in his head somehow stood out amongst his agony. He felt every thought began to melt from the intense fire. He was sure that should this continue, his very brain would-.

There was the sound of metal breaking.

And he remembered where he was.

He looked up. Gold Experience stood before him. In its hands were the broken pieces of a katana.

And in front of his Stand, was a slim, pale man. The man was shaking, arms holding the handle of his now broken weapon as he took a step back.

The pain faded from his body as he shakily stood back up. Sweat dripped from his face as he took in long breaths.

And when he stopped shaking, his entire focus was back on the fools in front of him.

Cold eyes glared at the cowering men.

"Go."

With that one word, his partner moved.

 _ **"MUDA!"**_

Gold Experience flew through the air. In an instant, it was right in front of the man with the broken sword before it struck him with a right hook to his cheek.

The man was sent flying. His mask cracked as he was sent spiraling through the air. He crashed face first into the wall of the alley, and he could hear the man's skull breaking on impact. Blood leaked from the man's head and painted the wall as his lifeless body slumped to the floor. Gold Experience moved back to him, now standing to his left.

Five men were left.

They did not so much as breathe. All they could do was stand motionless. All they could do was let their terror paralyze every part of their bodies. All they could do was stare at his Stand. He could see the horror on their faces slither and mangle their expressions. They couldn't even think straight right now. Most likely too busy listening to their heart hammering against their ribs to even-.

Wait.

They were staring...at his Stand.

Not near his Stand. Not in the general area of his Stand. No, these men were looking right into Gold Experience's eyes as it floated only inches away from him.

They could _see it._

How?

They weren't Stand users. They would have used their Stands by now if they were.

He could hear the echoes of the voices from before. He clutched his head with his hand as pain arose in his mind; it was less than before though, and that allowed him to think. It allowed his mind to replay all the strange events that had happened to him today. All the frustrating information he had learned reappeared right in front of his eyes. He remembered how everything about this city disturbed him slightly. He remembered how nothing about this entire situation made any sense.

Just what the hell happened to him while-

"AHHHHHHHH!"

One of them broke away from the rest, a tall and lanky man with tattoos on his arms. He ran forward, both hands taking his katana out of its scabbard as he raised it high above his head.

He did not move as the man charged forward.

At the base of every animal, there was one thing hard-wired into their bodies. Should they ever find themselves in a dangerous, this instinct would activate in less than second. Should they ever be terrified beyond words, a primal thought would appear in their minds.

It was a choice.

To either run away or fight.

He saw the fear wrapping around the man's body as he shouted his terrified war cry. His grip on the sword practically broke the handle as the man brought it down towards him.

The man had chosen to fight.

Of course, either choice the man had made would have resulted in the same thing.

"Aim for his head."

Gold Experience disappeared from his sight. When it reappeared, it had already shattered the sword with one swift jab just before the katana could even get close to him, pieces of broken metal falling through the air. And just before they could hit the dirty floor, his Stand moved the same arm it used to destroy the sword higher into the air before smashing it down right on the center of the fool's head.

The man's face hit the concrete with an audible boom. The cracks that formed from the impact stretched across the concrete. The man's head bounced off the ground as blood leaked from underneath his cracked mask.

He then fell back to the ground face first. Blood began to pool around his body.

Four left.

They all screamed. One of them fell on his ass as he trembled. The other three pulled out their pistols and started firing. Gunshots echoed throughout the alley, but their screams were even louder than the rapid fire of their weapons. They did not aim for his Stand, but instead at him. He would admit that given the situation, that was the smart move to make.

But still...

Gold Experience moved in front of him in an instant. The bullets bounced off its body without leaving so much as a scratch. Its green eyes looked right at the horrified fools in front of it and its partner.

This was all...

Gold Experience began to walk forward. He followed his Stand, calmly walking behind it as the men continued to fire. The bullets continued to bounce harmlessly off of his Stand's body, but the fools did not stop. He could see the terror thoroughly drenching their souls slip out of their bodies. It permeated throughout the air as their horror killed what was left of their self-control. Tears slipped from behind their mask. They trembled so badly it affected their aim, and some of the bullets missed his Stand entirely. With each step he took their screams grew louder. He wouldn't be surprised if nearby glass began to crack from the volume of their cries.

Absolutely...

They ran out of bullets. And when they did, Gold Experience was already standing in front of them. Its golden form could not have been more menacing to the four cowering fools in front of it. Their terror let them know what his Stand was about to do. The malevolence he had summoned was laughing at them, and with a grin, it told them exactly what would become of them. His hatred that destroyed their will could not have made it clearer as to what was about to happen.

That they were about to die.

"Useless." He muttered.

And then his Stand shouted the last thing these fools would ever hear.

 _ **"WRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"**_

Its scream was more demented than usual.

The one who was trembling on the floor was first. Gold Experience jumped forward as it launched its attack. Its arm was a blur of yellow before its hand landed right on the whimpering idiot's trachea. His Stand then gripped the fool's throat as hard as it could. Bone protruded from the fool's skin the moment Gold Experience grip tightened, blood sprouting from the new holes in the man's neck. Coughing a glob of blood right onto Gold Experience's torso, the man fell onto the ground.

His Stand then moved to its next victims. At speeds no one could follow, it had grabbed two of the fools' heads with both hands before slamming them down onto the concrete. The back of their heads erupted in blood and there was a twin set of short screams.

And by the time the screams faded, Gold Experience moved to the last man standing.

He never got a chance to scream. Before he could open his mouth, before he could even contemplate running, Gold Experience threw a punch, and its fist pierced through the man's gut with ease. He heard the sounds of bones breaking as his partner's fist protruded from the last fool's back.

Confusion enveloped the man's features. He could tell the man was trying to figure out why he couldn't move. The last bits of his mind that still functioned tried desperately to understand why he couldn't even breathe.

The man then looked down and saw his Stand's fist piercing his body.

The last of the Fang gave out a shrill gasp, and then he was quiet.

Gold Experience disappeared from reality. With nothing left to hold the man up, he fell to the ground alongside the other three corpses.

He let out a sigh. He examined the bodies scatter along the alley. He almost expected the corpses to get back up and fight. He remembered all the battles where he and his friends thought they had one only for the enemy to pull out one last trick in an attempt to win.

But these fools weren't like the enemies of his past. He had killed them, and there were no chances of them getting back up.

He walked back towards Maroon. Surprisingly, he did not see any fear on the man's face as he approached him. Instead, there was only disbelief in his eyes. Disbelief that someone had beaten the White Fang so brutally. That the man was still alive and breathing when he had only moments ago imagined every way he could die.

When he was in front of Maroon, he kneeled down as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and held it out in front of Maroon's eyes.

"Please bite down on this."

The man complied without a word. Teeth sank into leather as his aura once again emerged from within his body.

"This is going to hurt a little."

That was a lie.

Gold Experience appeared by his side. Maroon did not even spare a glance at his Stand. Instead, he chose to stare right at his face.

"Bite down as hard as you can."

Gold Experience moved with immense speed. In less than a second, it had removed the bullet sticking out of Maroon's flesh as it used its other arm to grab a stray piece of jagged gravel. When the bullet was removed, his Stand placed the gravel right into the wound the bullet had just come out of.

Maroon let out a muffled scream as tears once again formed in the corner of his eyes.

The piece of gravel glowed a bright a yellow the moment it entered his skin. Its black skin seemed to dissolve and from underneath it came human flesh. The gravel began to morph into new patches of skin that glowed the same yellow color as his aura. The wounded flesh seemed to stitch itself back together. After a moment the wound was gone and the bleeding had stopped completely.

He took his wallet out Maroon's mouth and placed it back in his pocket.

"That should-."

He didn't finish.

For he found himself suddenly being hugged.

"Thank you." Maroon was sniffling into his shoulder. The amount of gratitude in his voice was staggering. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

He kept repeating the same words over and over again. His grip grew tighter as he could feel tears beginning to stain his clothing. The disbelief on his face turned to awe. It was obvious that what he did had struck something inside Maroon. The man was now incredibly thankful not only to the person who had defeated these Fang members, but also because he had stood up for him specifically. Even though it would have been easier to leave, he had stayed. He had fought on Maroon's behalf and risked his very life for a stranger.

It was probably the first time anyone has ever done such a thing for him.

He glanced to the floor. He...was not used to these situations. He could count the number of times he had been hugged on one hand. He could charm any person he met with but a few words. He could inspire confidence in others with rousing speeches. With just a look, he could make men freeze on the spot and regret every decision they had ever made in life.

But hugging?

Hugging was something he wasn't good at.

So, not entirely comfortable but knowing it would be appropriate to return the hug in some way, he slowly raised his right arm.

And then he patted Maroon on the back of the head.

And after a short moment, he gave Maroon another tap to the head.

Eventually, after several more seconds, Maroon let him go. He was relieved, it had been somewhat difficult to not show his growing unease on his composed expression.

"Thank you."

"You do not need to thank me."

He stood up, and as he did so he extended a hand to the still sitting Maroon.

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah. Whatever you did just healed my wound."

Healed wasn't the right word for what he did, but he did not see a need to correct the man. Maroon took his hand as he slowly rose to his feet. He noticed that the rings under his eyes were far darker now than before. Gold Experience might have repaired his bullet wound, but it did not take care of his exhaustion. If anything, it probably made the man feel even more tired than before.

And as Maroon stood, he also noticed something moving on his head.

"I thought I was dead."

Something was twitching within his dirty hair. He remembered how he saw the same thing earlier before the fight.

"I really thought..."

His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Once Maroon stood up, he slowly moved his arm towards his head where the source of the twitching was.

"I got worried when you started screaming. But then you killed them in seconds." He heard Maroon let out a few heavy breaths. He could tell the man was struggling to regain his strength.

And as Maroon trailed off to catch his breath, his hand had just grabbed the source of the twitching.

"I can't-OW!"

When he found the source of the twitching, the first thing he noticed was how it felt rather...Soft. He had thought there to be some kind of bug in his hair, so he not expected to find something so fluffy.

And when he pulled out whatever object he had just grasped into the open, he saw exactly what it was.

A wolf ear.

Not some fake ear a cosplayer might wear, but a genuine ear physically attached to his head. It had been hidden by his messy hair, but by pulling it the upper half of it was exposed to the world.

And by pulling the ear, another wolf ear quickly emerged from his hair. Pulling on the ear also apparently caused Maroon great pain. The man took a step away from him as he brought both hands up to his ears.

"Shit that hurt!" Maroon turned to look at him. "What did you do that-?"

Maroon paused, and the man gave him a strange look.

He knew why, of course.

He tried to suppress it, but he felt his confusion expanding inside him and slithering onto his face. He could feel it wrap around his features as his frown got just the tiniest bit deeper. He tried to morph his features back into their usual calm expression, but his confusion was too great to seal away.

And his perplexion was obvious to the man in front of him. A man who was currently giving him a look similar to the one Obsidian gave him before he called him crazy.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." He responded, making sure not to answer too quickly. "I'm just..."

He trailed off, not sure how to ask his question. He picked his next words very carefully. He could not have a repeat of what happened to the last man he tried talking too. There was a chance he could gain some information from Maroon.

"Are you a User?"

Those were the only words he could come up with. Maroon being a Stand user was only explanation he could think that would explain the wolf ears.

"A user?"

Confusion was evident in Maroon's voice.

"Yes. Like me."

"Like you?"

He saw Maroon's confusion grow as the man tried to figure out the meaning of his words, but they seemed lost to him.

Then, something seemed to click in Maroon's mind.

"O-Oh, you mean are my ears a part of a Semblance.

Semblance?

"These ears are just part of who I am. They're what make me a Faunus."

Faunus? Like the God?

"I don't have a Semblance. Heck, I don't even have my Aura unlocked like you do."

What did having your "aura unlocked" mean?

"I'm just a regular Faunus. Not a Huntsman like you."

What the hell was a Huntsman?

"I see."

No, he didn't.

He kept his voice in the same emotionless tone as before. He was able to reclaim control of his features as he placed his stoic mask back into place. His eyes were once again calm and showed nothing.

Even though all he could feel was a rush of confusion and frustration enveloping him from within.

What was wrong with this place? Why was it that people kept spouting terms and names at it like he was supposed to automatically know what they meant? Why could the men he just killed see his Stand? Why could Maroon see Gold Experience if he wasn't even a User?

He resisted the urge to gnash his teeth together.

Once again he thought back to everything that had happened since he woke up. The voice in his mind kept reminding him that he was missing something, and it was something that he should have figured out by now. What was it about this place that bothered him so much? Why did it feel like he knew the answer even though he couldn't put into words?

He looked back towards the corpses of the White Fang. He noticed something he hadn't before in the middle of his fight. The ones who had their mask cracked, as in the ones whose head had slammed to the concrete, had rather animalistic features. Some of them had cat-like eyes while others had teeth that were far sharper than the average human.

Were these people also Faunus? They had animal qualities to them, just like Maroon, but he couldn't assume anything yet. He was surprised he hadn't noticed their features before. He supposed it was thanks to the light shining down into the alley. It wasn't a light from a nearby building. It was far more natural. While It was a little dim, it did fill the alley with a white glow.

He looked up to see what the source was.

And saw it was the moon.

He then stopped breathing.

And suddenly he had answers to a majority to his question.

The reason why he had never heard of Vale before? Why this place had technology he had never seen before? Why everyone sprouted terms as if they were common knowledge everyone should know?

Simple.

It hadn't existed until just now.

He was trembling. Fear swallowed his soul and completely engulfed his body. All he could see were shadows. They surrounded him, slithered into his body and made his dread all the more powerful.

No, that wasn't right. It would be more accurate to say that _he_ hadn't existed _in this place_ until just a few hours ago.

He collapsed to his knees. All sound around him faded to a static like noise as he stared at the ground. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream. An illusion. Maybe a trick by some Stand user to try and make him fall into despair. To engulf every fiber of his being in dread.

Except that the voice in his head was now quiet.

And the reason for that was because he had solved the mystery. He had finally found his answer.

No.

This couldn't... This shouldn't be...

No,no,no,no,no,no,no,no! NO! NO! NO! NO!

"Hey, you okay?!"

He was sweating so badly that a small pool had already formed near his hands. His heart slammed so fiercely against his ribs he thought it might break them. The fear inside his body was now massive; it flooded and strangled every one of his sense as he was helpless to stop it.

"Hey! Crap, what's wrong man?!"

What was wrong?! He would tell you what was wrong!?

He looked up back into the black sky.

The moon was in _fucking pieces!_

In the sky surrounded by the black shroud of the night, the moon was like a beacon. A broken, shattered, beacon that still continued to do its job despite the damage it had suffered. Chunks of the moon, some big and some small, some wide others short, had been broken off from the celestial sphere. The pieces floated so close to their former body that he could almost see the full shape of the sphere. To him, they looked like broken pieces of a puzzle that desperately needed to be put back together.

"Seriously, what's-?"

"What is the name of this place?"

Maroon stopped talking. He could hear the anger burning in his voice. Flames resided inside each of his words, becoming all the more searing with each syllable that left his lips.

Maroon had yet to answer.

"What is the name of this place!?"

The fury in his voice burned itself into the very air around them.

Maroon looked like he was once again thrust into another hopeless situation. As if he was facing off against death itself.

And by God, he had every right to believe that.

"Va-Vale. This is Va-"

"No. Not the city."

He knew his gaze, despite his wrath, was freezing. Despite the rage burning throughout his body, his eyes were unfeeling. Despite the fury making every muscle in his body shake, he knew his expression was frigid.

Even when he was so angry, he knew his features were cold.

And that right now, those features made him look like an absolute demon.

"I. Mean. The. Planet."

Maroon took a step back. The man could see his anger, and he knew what would happen should he do anything stupid. The terror he saw in his eyes for just a moment satisfied his rage.

"Re...Remnant."

The rage left his body.

And he felt sorrow take its place.

He was hoping he had been mistaken. No, he _needed_ to be mistaken. If he was right then that would mean... That would mean...

That his home was gone.

And that it meant he would never see his friends again.

But he was right... He was in another _fucking_ world.

The sorrow within him clutched at his heart. He could feel it embed itself into every breath he released, every twitch, and especially his thoughts. He could see his friends, all of them. Could see them move farther and farther away from him from each second until finally, they faded into nothing.

Damn it.

After finally beating Diavolo, this happens. Somehow, he had been transported to another world.

Damn it!

Why? Why did this happen? How was it possible? Why the fuck couldn't he remember anything?!

GOD DAMN IT!

He did not know when, but at some point, his body had moved on its own and he was now standing. He looked down at his hands and wondered what was he supposed to do now.

He came up with nothing.

For once he had no idea how to move forward. He had no plan to act out. No way of accomplishing his dream that he had strived so long for.

For the first time, he felt... Lost.

His entire purpose had just died in the span of a few seconds. His very will had just been destroyed, something that he had thought was unbreakable was now in a million fragile pieces. His resolve that had guided him through so many battles had just been extinguished. The fire that had always burned within his soul was no more.

God fucking damn it...

"Hey man... Are you okay?"

He slowly turned his head towards Maroon. He could feel how heavy his eyes were now. He could feel his melancholy sinking itself into every part of his expression.

He tried to put back on his stoic mask, tried to lock away his sadness, but his sorrow shattered every and any attempt to lock it away.

So he looked at Maroon with tired, sorrowful eyes. Not even caring that he looked so pitiful to the man in front of him.

"No."

He hated how quiet his voice was. Hated the remorse that secreted from his lips.

"Do... Do you need help?"

Yes. But he doubted anyone could provide him with the help he needed. There was really nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

Nothing...just like he was before. Nothing. Just less than a speck of dirt. Just someone that could do nothing to change the world he lived in. Someone who couldn't change his reality.

Nothing. Just absolutely use-.

Before his eyes, he could see everything.

All the hardships he went through.

All the times when by all means he should have given up but didn't.

All the times where he should have died but kept on getting up.

And then, amidst the flashes of every struggle he had gone through in life, both supernatural and normal...he saw _him_. The man who inspired him. The man who he had wanted to be. The man who he owed everything to.

For a moment, he could hear a voice. His voice. That smooth and calming tightness that accompanied his every word. That rough and echoing voice that reached to the bottom of his soul.

 _Do you truly have what it takes?_

He would always remember those words. Always.

As if slapped, he felt his eyes widen.

What was he thinking? He couldn't allow his misery to make him act like a fool. He was in an entirely new world. He had no idea how anything here worked.

He needed information.

And this man could provide it for him.

Within him, he picked up the shards of his resolve and began to put them back together. He refused to let this be where his journey would end. He refused to think that after everything he had been through, he would never accomplish the dream because of something as simple as being transported to a new world.

 _Do you truly have what it takes?_

His conviction was made of steel. His determination was a fire that would _never_ be smothered. He would not let despair strangle his heart any longer. Any sorrow left in his body had been crushed underneath the weight of his resolve. Any misery still swallowing his stomach had just been slaughtered by his determination that was ruthless to anything in its path.

He was a man who had finally found people he could call friends.

Like hell he was just going to sit in an alley and wallow in his own sadness.

He would get back to his world at some point. He would find his friends again.

That was a God damn promise.

And right now, he had to take steps to ensure he would not die in this new world.

"Yes. I... I'm sorry for getting so angry at you before."

He did not have the same emotionless expression as before. In its place was a face brimming with worry. He could feel the nervousness pooling in his eyes, and he knew Maroon could see it as clear as day.

He pointed at the corpses behind him.

"It has been... A long day for me. And killing these men has not exactly helped make it any better."

He mustered up every ounce of regret within him and poured it into his expression.

"I did not mean to snap at you. But if you are offering me help... Do you think you can spare some time and answer my questions."

Maroon hesitated.

Hesitation was good. Hesitation meant that the man did not view him as a completely dangerous individual. It meant that he was nervous around him, that much was for certain. But it also meant that he was at least listening to his pleas.

"I..."

"Please. I know you don't owe me anything."

That was a lie. This man owed him, and Maroon knew that fact.

He had to be subtle. He could not be too blunt or crude. He had to use the words that left his lips like finely sharpened knives.

"I know these men have probably been hunting you for who knows how long and you must just want to escape it all."

Men he killed. Men who he saved Maroon from. He saw the man bite his lower lip.

Good, he felt guilty. He could see the hesitation slowly fading from his expression.

Just one more push. One more well-crafted sentence with just the right amount of emotion, and then Maroon would help.

"But I have no one else left to help me... Please."

Yes. Remind him that they were one and the same. That they were brothers.

One does not abandon a brother who just saved their life.

"...Not here."

Those two words were as soft as a whisper. They were barely audible.

But he still heard them none the less.

Perfect.

"Of course. Do you know a place where we can talk?"

"Yeah. But first, I'll need to get some new clothes."

Maroon looked towards the corpses. He seemed to be considering something. And after a moment, his lips moved into a frown

"Do you have any money?"

He did not think that this new world would take Euros.

"No."

"Then we're..."

He saw disgust creeping into his expression.

"We're gonna have to loot these guys."

This was far from the first time he had looted a corpse. It was, however, the first time he had encountered currency quite like this. There didn't seem to be any numbers nor images anywhere on its face. The design was plastic, almost like a credit card but it felt...different. A large "L" with two horizontal crosses was located near the face of each card.

Maroon had called it "Lien."

In total, there wasn't much "Lien" on these thugs. But he said that there was enough for a set of decent clothes.

"Alright. We can go now."

They stood by the mouth of the alley. They had decided to hide the corpses in nearby dumpsters located along the walls of the alley.

"The White Fang will realize something is up once these guys don't check in. If I had to guess, I say I can answer any question you have for about two hours."

"That's fine."

He was the first one to walk out of the alley. He glanced around to make sure there wouldn't be any more men trying to attack them. After a few moments, he decided that there were no more men. There wasn't a single other person walking on the streets, and the buildings surrounding him looked empty. Adding in the fact that the only life energy he could sense was from Maroon, he felt it was safe to say that they were alone.

"It's clear."

Maroon slowly walked out of the alley. He glanced from one building to the next, then to the desolate stretch of road in front of them, and finally to him.

"Okay. Let's go. I know a shop nearby here that sells cheap clothes."

Maroon began to walk along the curb of the road. He was sure to stay a close distance behind Maroon.

He looked up towards the broken moon.

He was not sure how he got here. He was not sure how his Stand had lost its power. He was not even sure how he was going to survive in this new world.

But frankly, the "how" didn't really matter right now.

 _ **"GIORNO!"**_

He could hear the distorted voices from before once again fill his mind.

But this time he felt no doubt, no fear, and certainly no misery engulfing his body.

For right now, it did not matter how or why he was here. It did not matter that he had been taken from his home. It did not matter that his memories were in fractured pieces.

For what mattered right now was that he now needed to adapt if he wanted to survive.

And he would survive.

And then he would find a way home. For it did not matter that he had no idea how this new world worked. He did not care that he had no idea how to return to his home.

Because he was Giorno Giovana.

And whenever he set out to do something, he would do it.

Nothing, not God himself or even the most contemptible of monsters, would stop him from ever accomplishing his goals.

 _To Be Continued~_

 **Hello, all you wonderful readers out there!**

 **So I have yet again written another new story! You see, a friend recently convinced me to watch RWBY, and I got to say, it's an absolute blast! Seriously, the series is really enjoyable and fun!**

 **And after watching every episode, I slowly began to think of another story idea. I worked on this in between my other main stories, and the more I wrote the more excited I became about it!**

 **And it's my hope that I can do the concept of the most ambitious member of the JoJo's entering the world of RWBY justice. I want this story to feel different than my other JoJo crossover, and I hope that you guys feel the same!**

 **If anyone has any thoughts, suggestions, or predictions as to where this story is going, don't be afraid to say so in the reviews! This is the Black Mage of Phantasm signing off. Peace!**


	2. Still The Same

_**Chapter 2: Still The Same**_

 _It was always the same._

 _No matter what he tried, nothing changed. Every day was the same process with only minor differences here and there._

 _This was his fate._

 _"Look at him, I think he's gonna cry!"_

 _"Alberto, this time aim for his cheek!"_

 _"Alright, but only because you asked so nicely!"_

 _He had learned that a long time ago._

 _Pain flooded his body as his head whipped around. His vision faded to black before it quickly returned after a moment, just in time to see himself land on a black trash bag. Whoever tied it hadn't done a good job, as he felt moldy garbage fall on top of his hair._

 _"Eww, disgusting! Don't you know how to bathe!?"_

 _"Of course he doesn't!"_

 _They laughed. The same mocking laughs that he heard for almost his entire life._

 _A boy was slowly trying to get the garbage out of his black, shoulder-length hair. He could smell the stench now infused into his black button jacket and blue shorts._

 _He turned his head just in time to see a shoe land on his face. He fell back down onto the garbage, this time with a bit of blood running down his lips._

 _The much bigger boy did not let up as he continued to push down on his face._

 _"You'd think a bastard like you would get it at this point."_

 _His voice became low. It was quieter than a whisper._

 _"You can't run from us."_

 _He hadn't tried to. He just forgot. He honestly just forgot to pay them. That was it._

 _"You just gotta accept that you're our bitch."_

 _The bigger boy did not need to tell him that._

 _Alberto, just another one the people who punished him, lifted his shoe and slammed it down on his face again._

 _He let out a grunt._ _He had become so used to this that his tolerance for pain was far above a normal child's._ _He was truly thankful for that._ _At least he didn't have to worry about any permanent damage._

 _The three of them gave him another round of laughter. It was somehow even crueler than before._

 _They then walked away and left him to sit on the filthy garbage._ _They left him alone in the alley they had trapped him in._

 _But they would be back._

 _They always came back._

 _There really was no use running._

 _Throughout the beating, his eyes had remained the same. They held the same gaze no matter how hard they punched him._ _Even now, they were empty._

 _He let out a sigh. He wiped away the blood on his lips and then tried his best to get the garbage off his body._

 _But no matter how thorough he was, no matter what he did, there would always be a massive amount of garbage on his presence._ _Because his entire body was made of nothing but the most disgusting trash._

 _Nothing but filth existed within his soul._

* * *

 _"You little shit!"_

 _For the second time, his cheek was hit with something hard and fast. This time though, it was a leather belt. A belt that bit into his skin._

 _A belt that belonged to his step-father._

 _"What the hell is up with that stench!"_

 _He hit the floor. He could already feel the bruise forming on the side of his face. Once again his vision faded to black._

 _He thought his step-father would be at work. Or perhaps drunk at a bar._ _He hadn't expected him to be home so early._

 _"You're bringing in piles garbage into my house!"_

 _He hadn't. At worse, there had only been a tiny amount of the trash that had once covered his body._ _But it was still enough to make his stepfather furious._

 _"Who the fuck do you think you are?!"_

 _Nobody. He didn't think he was anybody._

 _He barely even qualified as human._

 _Another strike landed on his side. The force sent him tumbling over to his back. He now looked right into his stepfather's eyes. Eyes that held a smoldering fury he had seen so many times before._

 _But there was something else_ _within his step-father's face._ _It was anger, but it was a different kind of rage than the one burning within his expression. This anger looked... Fragile. Like at any second, with just one word, it would-._

 _"You son of a bitch are you trying to read me!"_

 _His eyes were still empty._

 _But he must have had on that expression. The expression his step-father hated._

 _The expression of someone whose eyes never knew when to stop looking. To stop searching for something that would only lead him to more pain._

 _And in his step father's words, the expression of someone who didn't know his place._

 _"You're nothing but a shit stain!"_

 _He knew that._

 _The belt came down again. Hard enough to cause blood to fall down his forehead._

 _This was not worse than his other beating by his father. Perhaps it hurt more, in the physical sense, but in other ways, it was the same._

 _Because every beating from his stepfather always reminded him how much of a worm he truly was._

* * *

 _He had finished wrapping his bandages as his mother came home. His step-father had already gone out after he was satisfied with the punishment he gave him._

 _This was rare. Normally, his mother wouldn't be home until the darkest hours of the night. Yet it was only eight thirty._

 _She stood in front of him. She hadn't even glanced at all the bandages that covered his head._

 _"I need some cash for another ladies night. Do you know where I put my wallet?"_

 _He shook his head._

 _She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh._

 _"How come you never pay attention to the important stuff?"_

 _He didn't respond to that._

 _She walked past him and went into the kitchen._

 _"Ahh, I found it."_

 _He climbed up the stairs as his mother came out of the kitchen._

 _"I got beat up again."_

 _His voice sounded more hollow the usual; as if it had somehow found an even deeper pit to burrow under._

 _He didn't know why he even bothered saying that._

 _"What, that again? Those boys probably aren't as bad as your making it out to be. You've gotta get a thicker skin. You're seven already."_

 _He was eight. And he didn't know how to get skin thick enough to withstand a belt._

 _"Francisco did too."_

 _"Oh come on."_

 _She didn't even glance at him as she opened the door. He didn't need to see her face to see how annoyed she was._

 _Why did he even say that? Now his step-father was probably going to beat him again tomorrow when he heard about what he told her._ _Even though both he and his stepfather knew telling his mother wouldn't change anything._

 _That telling anyone would change anything._

 _"Your father get's a little rough, he's told me that, but you're a man. You have to learn how to take it. Do you know how whiny you sound right now?"_

 _He was aware. Which was why he hated himself for even speaking._

 _His mother gave another sigh as she still did not turn around to look at him._

 _"Don't expect me to be back anytime soon."_

 _He didn't._

 _And with that, she closed the door._

 _And he was alone._

 _Just like always._

 _He limped up the stairs and eventually made it to his room. He reached his bed and slowly climbed on top of it._ _He then laid his head on top of his pillow._

 _His eyes were still just as empty as when the day had started._

 _Why did he have to be born like this?_

 _He felt his hands slowly clench into fists._

 _Why did he have to be such a piece of shit? Why did he have to be born as such a pathetic boy?_

 _He was beaten almost every day by seemingly everyone because he was a failure of a human being. No one ever helped him because he wasn't worth the effort. He deserved to get such cruel treatment from his fellow men because he was nothing more than a disgusting child._

 _It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked to exist. He hadn't asked to go through this hell._ _He hadn't wanted to be born such a waste of a person._

 _But fate seemed to want him to live a life of misery._

 _His eyes were as empty as they always had been and always would be. His expression never changed from the melancholic look permanently etched into his skin._

 _This was how he would die. A boy who would forever be the world's whipping boy._ _All because he was the most despicable of scum. All because he was worth less than zero._

 _Damn it._

 _Haruno Shiobana cried into his pillow. He did make a single sound as he did so. He wept until he fell to sleep._

 _Though...it was strange. There was something he felt right before he fell to sleep._

 _It felt like...a hand. A hand that rested on the back of his head; a warm hand that made his body a lot less cold. It was like...something had entered his body and created a light inside it._

 _He must have been dreaming._

 _For there's no way someone like him deserved such a soft and gentle touch._

* * *

He did not expect Maroon would take him to a café of all places.

Perhaps a bar. Maybe even an apartment where the man had been staying. But not a café.

Yet here he was.

Giorno Giovana looked up from his cup of coffee towards Maroon. The man had gotten rid of his torn pants and shirt and replaced them with something less conspicuous. He now wore a long-sleeved blue shirt and jet black jeans. On his head were an equally black baseball cap and sunglasses that hid his eyes from the world. And in his hands was a cup of tea; he rose the white porcelain up to his mouth to take a sip. His arm was trembling though, so parts of his tea spilled onto the table that separated the two.

Even behind those glasses, he could see Maroon's eyes glancing in every direction. See how they sometimes lingered on the people who were sitting on the opposite end of the cafe. There were beads of sweat traveling down the man's forehead as he shakily put the cup back on the table. Maroon's other hand was clenching the leg of his pants in a tight grip.

He could hear how heavy the man's panting was as he brought an arm up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

After they had disposed of the White Fang bodies, Maroon had led him to a store where he could buy clothes to replace the rags the man had been wearing. To avoid suspicion, Maroon had stayed outside while he went in and bought the only clothes he could buy with the money they had. When he had acquired the clothes, Maroon changed as quickly as he could as he ditched his old clothes in a trash can.

And just as Maroon finished changing, he heard it. A familiar noise he had heard so many times back in his home.

Police sirens.

Maroon started to tremble the moment the sound of the sirens reached his ears. The man could barely take even a step forward. He glanced in every direction as his breathing became labored and erratic, eyes were bulging out of their sockets as fear twisted his expression. He was a bit surprised that this man used to be a part of a gang if this was his reaction to the mere sound of the police.

He had tried to calm him down, but nothing worked. Maroon was convinced that those sirens meant that the police had found the bodies they had hidden. It had only been about twenty minutes since he had killed the White Fang members, so he would admit there was a chance that the man was right. And for all he knew, the cops in this town might actually have the power to find the culprits who killed those men in minutes. The police in his old town were morons, but perhaps the police here actually did their jobs.

So he had decided to listen to Maroon when he said they needed to find someplace to hide quickly. He said that they couldn't make it to the place he had originally intended to take him to, so he had asked the man to take him to whatever place he considered safe and was not too far away.

Which was why he was currently sitting in a small booth located near one of the corners of the café. Maroon had said that this was the only place he could think of in such a short time. Any other place would have taken too much time and would risk getting caught by the police. While it was rather public, by this hour the only people here were the waiters and about a few other patrons scattered throughout the cafe.

Maroon had told him that this would be one of the few places open now. Apparently, it had become a trend for stores and other business to close before nightfall. He immediately understood why.

Who would want to have their store opened when there were gang members roaming the streets?

He reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip.

Hmm. A bit too bitter for his taste, but it wasn't awful. They had enough money leftover from the corpses they robbed to place an order, that way they wouldn't get kicked out of the store.

He looked back to the Maroon, who was still sweating and glancing in every direction. He was constantly fidgeting in the brown leather seat of the booth, adjusting the cap on his head every other second. Maroon was expecting someone to attack him at any moment. As if he was expecting someone to walk in through the doors and shoot him in the head.

And because of that, he looked like the textbook example of someone who was hiding from the law. Anyone looking at him would immediately think Maroon was suspicious. He was thankful no one was really paying attention to them right now, but that could change very quickly.

"I know you're scared, but you need to stop shaking."

His voice was a whisper, but it was still sharp and clipped. The severity of his words demanded Maroon's attention.

Maroon's head turned towards him. The man's trembling had decreased slightly. Even from behind his sunglasses, he could see Maroon was staring right into his eyes.

And he could see the fear slowly slithering into Maroon's expression. It was a different kind of fear than from before. It wasn't a fear born from worrying about getting caught by the police. It was a fear that had been created by him. Maroon was still afraid of him. And after his emotional display from before, he could not really blame the man.

He made sure to make that his next words were spoken as softly as possible.

"I understand that you're afraid, but you shouldn't be. Even if those sirens outside are looking for us, I highly doubt they'll think to look in a café for the ones responsible for those mens' death. You were the one who picked this place, and I have confidence in your ability to find a decent location to hide for the time being."

Maroon seemed to relax at his words. He could see the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. And while he still trembled, it was far less noticeable than before.

When a man gets complimented by someone who possesses great strength, there are a number of reactions to expect. The reaction he got from Maroon was the one he knew the man would take. If he, the one who defeated several armed thugs who were set on killing Maroon, had faith that they were safe, then surely the man must have been fretting too much. Maroon would think that since the one who rescued him was absolutely confident he had chosen a secure place to hide, there was no reason to be scared.

And adding in the kindness of his voice, Maroon would also start the think that maybe he shouldn't be afraid of the man who had such great power across from him.

He could see most of the anxiety and worry within Maroon slowly fading away.

"I'm... I'm sorry, you're right."

He glanced at the cup of coffee sitting on the table.

"It's just... Before tonight, I thought I was done."

Maroon let out a long sigh.

"I thought that I could finally put all of this stuff behind me. I thought that after today I could stop worrying about the White Fang."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you think that?"

This might be a chance to gain more information about this world. Or, at the very least, let him know just how desperate this man's situation was. It might let him know how to get this man to give him the answers he needed.

"Because after being on the run for so long, I finally did it. I found a way to get out of Vale. I had to hide for months. I've had to steal from stores that had already been robbed. But I finally got enough cash to pay someone to help me get out of this city."

Maroon let out a long breath. Even with his glasses, he could tell the man had closed his eyes as he leaned further back into his seat.

"And then this shit happens. I think I'm about to die, just as I finally found a way out of this place."

He placed both hands on the side of his temples. He was shaking again.

"I'm thankful that you saved me. I would have been just another corpse they killed if you hadn't helped. But right now, all of this shit is just another reminder that I need to leave as quickly as possible."

His glasses fell down his nose a little. And he could now see how wide Maroon's black eyes were. The rings under his eyes were deeper than before.

"I just want to have a normal life."

Maroon leaned forward, resting both his arms on the table. He could see just how tired the man was. His earlier assumptions were right. The man in front of him had been running for a very long time. Never stopping, and always in fear of getting caught.

He glanced towards his coffee before gazing back at Maroon.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting a normal life."

Maroon looked up at him.

"I do not know your past, but I can tell that whatever your running away from is something that you're not proud of."

He saw the man's hands clench into fists. His hat seemed to move a little, the wolf ears twitching from underneath it. Maroon's actions confirmed his words. Not that he had any doubts, reading the man across from him was rather easy.

He slowly reached for his cup.

"Whatever you did, you wish to put it all in the past and move on with your life. You regret whatever crimes you had committed, and now want a second chance."

He brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip of his drink.

"If you desire a normal life, then that is fine. I do not know you well enough to cast judgment."

That was a bit of lie. He had been able to figure out a large portion of this man's character through their limited interactions.

Once he was finished, he slowly put the cup of coffee back onto the table. He wished they had enough "Lien" to ask for cream. Cream would have made his drink taste so much better.

"However, I can say that being gunned down in an alley before getting tortured would be a fate only the cruelest of bastards deserved."

He looked right into Maroon's eyes. Calm ocean blue met fearful black. Maroon could only hold his gaze for a second before he glanced away. The man was once again biting his lower lip.

"I believe it is safe to say that you're not such a person. You might have sinned, but you're not the worst person out in the world."

Maroon turned and stared at him. Within Maroon's eyes, he could see the man was slowly processing his words. Maroon was trying to figure out whether his words had been a reassurance that he was not as bad as he thought, or if the man across from him was mocking him in some way.

He was not. He did not know everything about Maroon, but he did know some things. Maroon wasn't anywhere close to the same level of evil as Diavolo. One look into his black eyes told him that much.

The contemplative expression on Maroon soon faded as he let out a sigh.

"I guess not being the worst person in the world is better than nothing. Considering...what I've done."

Maroon slowly pushed his sunglasses back onto his face. His eyes once again concealed to the world.

Now with Maroon at the very least somewhat less agitated, he decided it would be a good time as any to ask his questions.

"As soon as you answer my questions, you can leave."

His made sure to soften his eyes before he spoke his next words. He could feel his lips morphing from a firm line to a regretful frown.

"I know you just want to get away from this city, but I need your help right now. So please."

He saw Maroon once again bite his lower lip. The man had a rather obvious tell. Whenever he was hesitating or fearful of something, he would bite his lip.

And the fact that the man who saved him, the man who did not judge him even though he was a part of a gang was only asking him to answer a few questions...

Well, he knew Maroon well enough to know he wouldn't refuse.

He saw the hesitance fade from his expression.

"Alright, ask away."

Those words confirmed it. Maroon was a person he could easily get his answers from. And nothing was going to stop him now that he could finally get them.

"Thank you."

Now, how to begin? If he asked questions that were too idiotic, he might end up making the man across from him believe he was crazy. He needed to make sure that he did not scare Maroon off, else he might never get his answers.

An idea came to his mind.

"First, let me give you a...disclaimer, of sorts."

"What is it?"

"I'm going to be asking you questions even a baby would know the answer to."

He saw Maroon quirk his head to the side. His cap once again was shaking slightly from underneath.

"Um...why?"

"Becuase I do not know you."

There was an edge to his voice now; a steel that was present in his every word. And his eyes were now cold.

Fear was once again beginning to engulf Maroon's expression. He could see the man slowly scooting further back into his seat.

"I do not know who you are, where you came from, or even if you plan to answer me honestly. The only thing I know is that you have committed crimes in your past, and that does not exactly instill me with confidence."

That was it. Play off the fact that Maroon's past made trusting him next to impossible for most people. By making it seem like he was distrustful, this man would immediately be worried. By being somewhat hostile, the man would become fearful that perhaps his savior might turn him into a corpse just like he had done to his former comrades.

"I-I'll answer you honestly! I-I promise!"

Maroon raised his voice slightly. He could practically feel the anxiety lodged in his every word.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"If you truly are, then you will not mind answering simple questions that everyone should know. And once you do answer these questions, it will give me a better picture as to who you are as a person."

He paused. He could see fear and perplexion expanding within Maroon's expression.

"You see, people always insert tiny biases into every answer they give to others. Ask two men what he thinks about this city, one may say he loves it because of the people, and the other one may say he loves it because of the food. These biases help others understand how people think. How they function and what motivates them."

He placed a hand under his chin and put his elbow on top of the table.

"They can try to hide these biases of course. But, some men can tell when people are purposely trying not let their opinions slip into their answers. And I am one of those men."

He once again reached for his cup and took another sip. He lowered the cup so it was now near his chin.

He heard Maroon swallowing audibly.

"I want you to answer every question as if you're the one asking it. Do not hold anything back. Let your opinion be known. Act as if I am have been living under a rock for my entire life and have just now ventured into this city. If you hate something, tell me why you hate. If you love something, tell me why you love it. I want to get to know you as a person, that way I can tell if you're lying to me about important information."

He knew his eyes were as sharp as daggers by this point.

"So for your sake, I truly hope you answer every question of mine, no matter how simple, as honestly as possible."

Maroon immediately nodded his head. The fear continued to envelop his face as he let out a shaky breath.

"I-I understand. Any questions, I'll answer. No matter what."

"Good."

He put his cup back on the table.

It was preferable to be intimidating than to be kind right now. He needed his answers as quickly as possible. By eliciting fear from Maroon, the man would be less inclined to hesitate when answering. And it also meant that Maroon would not even think about lying to him. From what he knew about Maroon and given his situation, being cruel would be his best option to get every answer he needed without the worry of the man thinking he was some lunatic.

So with the proper preparations in place, it was time to begin.

"Now, let's start with something easy."

His eyes looked at his cap.

He might as well go with the most obvious question in his mind.

"What are you?"

"A Faunus."

Images of the men he had killed appeared in his mind. Specifically their eyes and faces.

"The other men who were chasing you were Faunus as well?"

"Ye-Yes."

"And what exactly is a Faunus, in your words?"

Maroon paused. His eyes glanced around the table, trying to form the best words to answer his question. After a moment, he seemed to come up with an answer.

"We're like humans, but the only difference is that Faunus have animal traits."

That was... a rather simple definition.

There had to be more. He could still feel the strange energy emitting from the man across from him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. Gentle yet ferocious. Warm and deadly. It was something that fascinated him.

"Is that really the only difference between humans and Faunus?"

There was another pause as Maroon looked at his hands.

"I mean when you get down to it...there really isn't that much of a difference between us. Physically I guess we have some advantages over human's like night vision."

So his race had night vision? Well, that sounded like a rather useful ability.

"But other than that and...the obvious..."

Maroon's eyes glanced to his head.

"There really isn't much of a difference to me."

So did that mean that all of these Faunus had animal traits? And if so, was it just limited to their physical appearance? Could one say have the traits of a camel and be capable of going long periods of time without water? He wanted to ask similar questions, but he only needed answers to the most important ones now. Ones that were detrimental in staying inconspicuous and understanding this world.

The rest he could find out later.

He remembered the device Obsidian had shown him.

"What is a Scroll?"

Obsidian raised a brow.

"A Scroll?"

"Remember what I said before."

His eyes narrowed. Fear once again returned to Maroon's expression. The...Faunus quickly nodded his head.

"So-Sorry."

He brought a fist up to his mouth before coughing into it.

"A Scroll is...well, how people communicate with each other."

"Be more specific."

"It's a device that lets people talk to one another even if one of you is in Atlas and the other's in Vacuo."

So they were like phones. In addition to that, Maroon had just said "Atlas." The same place Obsidian mentioned. And "Vacuo," a new word that sounded like it was just as important as "Atlas." Were they countries? No, if Vale was a kingdom, then there might be a chance that those two places Maroon mentioned might also be Kingdoms. He couldn't rule anything out. He needed more information.

But then again, this was just the beginning of their conversation.

And apparently, Maroon wasn't done describing Scrolls.

"They let you take pictures, send messages to other people, heck, I even seen some that can tell you how much aura you have left."

Again with "aura." Maroon seemed to have a different definition as to what aura was then his own. What exactly was that term so important to him?

"And thanks to the improvements on the CTT, the range of Scrolls have increased."

And yet another term that sounded rather important appeared.

"And what is the CTT?"

"The Cross-Continental Transmit System. It's what makes Scrolls able to send messages to other people or videos. It has like a lot of information stored inside it, and we can look up the info with our Scrolls."

This was beginning to sound like the internet. Granted, it seemed to be different in some ways, but the core design looked to be the same.

"So how does it work?"

"I... I can't really explain that. Not that I don't want to! I just... It's really complicated to explain. If I had my Scroll I could maybe show you, but I lost that thing a while ago."

He had expected this. From what Maroon had described, it sounded like this CTT was a bit too complex for an ordinary man to describe. It was just like with the internet back in his world. People knew what it was, but they did not know how it functioned.

God did it feel strange to think about his world like that. Like it wasn't even around anymore. As if it had just been destroyed-.

He crushed those thoughts.

Focus only on the questions. That was all he had to do.

And there was one important question that was better to be asked now rather than later.

"Before, you mentioned "aura" when talking about Scrolls."

He made sure to keep his face in an emotionless mask.

"Tell me, what do you think "aura" is?"

He knew this word was important. To him, aura had always been nothing more than an overtly flashy light show that would always activate whenever he used his powers. But normally, ordinary people could not see his aura. Only Stand users should be able to see the energy that was channeled whenever he summoned his partner. Yet somehow, a group of normal people could see not only his aura but also his Stand.

This world apparently altered the rules of Stands. Somehow, ordinary people could see the manifestation of his soul now.

And this was...an undesirable outcome.

He needed to know what exactly aura was here. It was obvious the people here had their own version as to what it was. Since Maroon had said the energy that surrounded him was "aura," then that meant there was one similarity. Both his and this world's definition of aura was an energy that could surround a man, though that couldn't be all. There had to be other differences or similarities.

He prepared himself for whatever was about to come out of Maroon's mouth. He needed to keep his mind alert and sharp. Whatever the man across from him would say, he needed to be able to dissect his words and realize the meaning of them.

"Aura is the... manifestation of the soul."

...Well, that sounded familiar.

"At least, that's how I've heard it being described."

"Keep going."

This topic was now even more important than before. Unless this world had a completely different definition of the word "soul," Maroon had just described something he knew a lot about. Something that sounded the same as what was lying in wait within his body.

For it seemed like Maroon was describing aura as the same thing as a Stand.

His aura was related to his soul, but it wasn't the manifestation of it. It was a byproduct that he would come as a result of unleashing Gold Experience. It wasn't the personification of his will, it was just the signal that would sometimes surround itself around him if he ever decided to release his full power.

But here, it appeared that aura was far more entwined with one's soul.

"Aura is kinda like a...forcefield?"

"Are you asking me or are you telling me?"

"Telling! It is a forcefield. It protects you from attacks. It's basically a shield that surrounds your whole body."

Well... That was rather interesting. A shield that protected your body sounded incredibly useful.

"And about how much damage does it protect against?"

"I think it depends on how much aura someone has. From what I've heard, if someone with aura got hit by a truck speeding down a highway, the worse injuries they would get would be a few bruises. But, I could be a little off."

From the sounds of it, aura could protect one from an immense amount of physical damage. Compared to his aura and the aura of other Stand users, this world's version of aura was something that actually helped one in battle.

He could imagine all the ways it could aide someone in a fight. Punches that would have one spitting teeth would not even sting. Blows that would leave one crippled now only left bruises. If he had something like that when he was fighting Stand users throughout Italy, then his journey would have been far less painful.

Mista would have greatly benefited from such an ability. Out of everyone in his group, he seemed to be the one to get the worse injuries.

In an instant, he felt his finger dig into the table. And his frown became a little deeper without him realizing it.

He...he couldn't think like that. He had to stop thinking about his friends now. The only thing his memories were doing right now was distracting him.

He could still hear the distorted voice echoing his name into his ear.

The questions. Just focus on them.

He let out a tiny breath.

"So, I take it from your words you don't have aura?"

"No."

That only made things more confusing. If the man across from him had aura, then perhaps it would have explained why he had seen Gold Experience. But since he didn't, there went the only explanation he could come up with.

He needed more information. He needed answers.

"How exactly do you unlock aura?"

"Um..."

Maroon's expression once again became hesitant. His eyebrows furrowed together.

"Well, I've heard there are a lot of ways to get it. Like, if someone who has aura says some kind of chant to a person who doesn't, then that person's aura is unlocked. Or they can unlock it naturally; though, I think how they do so vary from person to person. There are stories of people unlocking their aura when there in danger. Or their aura just one day unlocks by itself for seemingly no reason."

It took a second for him to process this new information.

"In other words, the method for unlocking aura, at least to do so in the natural way, is rather vague."

"Yeah."

That also sounded familiar. He would have to do further research on aura. He knew that he couldn't get any more information on this subject from Maroon. The man seemed to be struggling enough as is, so it would just waste time trying to get the Faunus to remember anything he could about aura.

It was time for the next question.

"Before you called me a...Huntsman, correct?"

"Yeah."

"What exactly is that?"

Maroon did not respond right away. Instead, he paused. His expression became contemplative. It seemed like whatever a "Huntsman" was, it was something that required some thought.

"Well...do you want me to just give you...the simplest answer?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"If you agree with it, then I do not care how simple it is."

His eyes narrowed.

"But please hurry up."

Maroon swallowed.

"Well...I guess...To me Huntsman are..."

He scratched the back of his neck. His eyes glanced to the side.

"Are the soldiers who train to fight the Grimm."

A voice in his head let loose an enormous wail.

Something was wrong.

There was something about that word, Grimm. Something in the way Maroon said it. He had heard a hidden layer of disdain in his voice the moment he said that word. And his disgust seemed to be the starting point of something more. He could hear the beginnings of a fierce animosity that sounded almost like his own for that bastard Diavolo. It seemed like that one word had caused a myriad of different emotions within the Faunus.

And that made every instinct within him scream.

What was it about this word that could cause such a feeling in Maroon? How horrible were these "Grimm" that there was apparently a group of people trained to deal with them?

And...why did he suddenly feel fear slithering in his chest when Maroon said that.

"But if you want-."

"What are Grimm?"

His voice was steady. He made sure to show no emotion whatsoever in his expression.

Maroon blinked.

"Wha-?"

"I absolutely hate repeating myself. I don't think you want to see what will happen if you force me to do that."

Fear twisted Maroon's expression. Maroon once again swallowed as the man took a moment to compose himself.

He needed to be ready for anything. He had no idea what to expect so he needed to prepare for-.

"Grimm are the creatures that have essentially destroyed the world."

His thoughts came to a halt. He felt a coldness enveloping him as he stopped breathing for a moment.

...What?

"Explain."

That word left his mouth far too quickly.

There...there was no way Maroon could mean what he thought the Faunus meant.

"Well, you know...they're responsible for wiping out most of the population."

Suddenly he could hear Obsidians words again. He could hear how shocked the man was that he didn't know the places he named. How Maroon threw out names of places and expected him to know where they were.

The coldness became more agonizing with every second.

"Maroon...how many places in this world would you say are...uninhabitable."

He chose his words carefully. He kept his voice in the same emotionless tone as before. Even as he felt his fear strangling his heart.

Maroon gave him a strange look. As if he needed a moment to comprehend his question.

"I mean...If by "uninhabitable" you mean places that aren't destroyed by the Grimm, I guess there are some settlements here and there but otherwise..."

He paused.

"The only real places that can fully count as civilizations are basically just five. Atlas, Vale, Mistral, Vacuo and Menagerie."

Ahh.

Of course.

Not only did he get transported to a new world...he got transported to a God damn post-apocalyptic one!?

Suddenly he could hear his friends frightened screams again. He could see the shadows from his dream appear right in front of him. They blinded him. They strangled him as his fear swallowed his entire body. He suddenly couldn't move; he suddenly felt trapped.

He felt his body began to twitch, spasming and he could do nothing to stop it.

Of course, being transported to another universe wasn't bad enough, he had to be transported to one that was apparently like _Mad Max_. Being taken away from his friends wasn't a cruel enough sentence, so he had to be sent to a place where the world was literally at risk of collapsing.

The dread slithering throughout every inch of his body became colder, almost freezing. He could feel it digging into his body and-.

No.

Subdue the fear.

Do not succumb.

You are Giorno Giovana.

You do not bend to fear's will.

You make fear bend to yours.

His conviction grew. The fires of his resolve burned within him. The immense dread that had been slithering in his body had been incinerated.

This changed nothing.

His shaking stopped, at most lasting only a few seconds.

Seal your emotions. Throw them into the deepest pits of your body.

No more. No more allowing his feelings to overwhelm his thoughts. It didn't matter if this world was ravaged by monsters. Because no matter what, he would survive and get back home. He would see his friends again and accomplish his dream.

He let out a breath.

"Before, you said Huntsman were the ones that fight the Grimm."

The fact that there was still fully functioning society left even when most of the world had perished meant they had found a way to deal with these "Grimm." That meant it didn't matter if the outside was full of monsters. It wouldn't even matter if the rest of the planet was on fire.

All that mattered was finding out the best way to survive in this society. He could find out more about these monsters later. What he should now focus on was the people who apparently fought these monsters.

The ones who, if he had to guess, played a part in preventing the world from falling apart.

"Tell me, what do you think makes them competent enough to deal with the Grimm."

Maroon paused, eyes gazing at the table as he thought about his question. After a moment, he looked back at him.

"Well, they train for years in schools learning how to fight them. They have specialized weapons that make killing Grimm way easier than it would be for normal people. And all of them have Aura and some kind of Semblance."

"And what is a Semblance?"

"It's their...ability?"

"Be more specific."

"I mean, it's kinda like...A more tangible version of Aura. Semblances are basically Huntsman's personal powers. Every Semblance is different from person to person, so their's no other word I can think of to describe them other than ability because there are so many variations. Some people get super speed because of their semblance and other people can control certain elements."

He couldn't help but feel like he had heard this before. It seemed Semblances were this true version of Stands in this world. Abilities that varied from person to person. None the same as the last. The wielders of Semblances able to do things that average people could only dream of.

He suddenly thought back to the alley, of the terrified faces those men had as they looked at his Stand. A question soon rose in his mind.

"Have you ever seen a...Semblance like mine?"

From now on in this world, he would refer to his abilities as a Semblance. Right now that word was strange to say, but with time he would get used to it. He would not draw any attention to himself unless he wanted to.

Maroon's expression once again became contemplative.

"Well...I've heard about the Schnee's being able to do some kind of...what was it called, summoning? Yeah, summoning. But it was nothing like what you did."

He would have to do research on these "Schnees."

"And why is that?"

"Because, well, I'm pretty sure they use Glyphs or something like that while you just...called that thing in an instant."

Maroon paused.

So this was a normal person's reaction to seeing a Stand. A glazed look on their face as they thought about the being that seemed so human yet so different. A touch of awe in their eyes as they recalled the speed and strength the creature of will had displayed.

And a fear that, while small at first, was slowly growing within them as they realized just how easy it could kill. A dread that whispered to them how lucky they were that they weren't his enemy.

Maroon's words and expression confirmed something he had begun to suspect since the beginning. He was the only one with anything remotely like a Stand. Even in a world where extraordinary abilities seemed to be close to the norm, he still stood out. It seemed like no one had anything close to his Gold Experience.

And that was a troublesome fact.

He sighed.

"I see."

There was a pause. There were more questions he could ask, but now that he knew there was something akin to the internet here, he could look up any trivial things that weren't truly important right now.

So that meant there was only one question left. The question that had been on his mind since the beginning.

"Tell me, what was the name of the gang you had been a part of?"

That wasn't the actual question, but he decided to ask something that could get him the answers he needed. Perhaps there was no need to be subtle and he should have just asked directly, but he could never be too cautious. He had to make sure no one, even a stranger whose life he saved, knew what he was really after.

"We're not-!"

Maroon raised his voice but stopped as he realized that he was close to shouting. The anger he heard told him that the Faunus still had feelings for the group he had once been a part of. Even when they tried to kill him, he took offense that someone called their group a gang.

And that was interesting to him.

His gaze was still blank as Maroon's eyes flickered to the table.

"...They're not...at first they weren't like that, but now..."

Maroon let out a sigh.

"Now...the White Fang is something far worse."

Maroon's fingers adjusted his sunglasses as he bit his lip. One hand clenched into a fist while the other went towards his side, the place where he had gotten shot.

"Damn it...We used to be better than this."

Was that a fact?

His eyes narrowed.

"What exactly is the White Fang?"

Of all the reactions he had expected, a small chuckle had been somewhere halfway along the list. The bitterness in his laugh began to leak into his expression as Maroon gave him a melancholic smile.

"The White Fang...the organization that fights for the rights of Faunus everywhere. The group that won't rest until Faunus are treated the same as human beings everywhere."

He raised an eyebrow at Maroon's sarcastic words.

"The White Fang that tried to get equality for all through peace, the one that those words actually applied to is basically dead."

Equality?

Once again this sounded familiar. From how Maroon was describing the White Fang, he made it sound like Faunus were discriminated against. And that the White Fang had done something to try and change it. But something happened to the group along the way.

He watched as the anger in Maroon's eyes came back. He needed to choose his next words carefully.

"So then, what is the White Fang now?"

Another laugh.

"Now... they're nothing but people who want to give every human hell because of what some of them did to us Faunus. They...I gave up on peace just like the rest of them and choose to get violent."

That confirmed his suspicions. In this world, Faunus were seen as the lesser beings to humans. Similar to the Civil Right Movement in America, it seemed like the Faunus had protested this treatment through organized groups in an attempt to get the same rights that humans did. Though, here it seemed like the peaceful protest didn't work. It looked as if the White Fang adopted a more violent philosophy in an attempt to be treated the same.

"And do you think their new actions helped the Faunus?"

Maroon's expression became irritated. Though, this irritation was born not from his words, but from the memories they brought back up. Memories that made the Faunus grit his teeth.

"I...damn it, that's what really..."

Maroon couldn't finish. The Faunus turned his head to the right as he stared at the window. After a moment, Maroon returned his gaze to him.

"Do you know what it's like?"

He blinked.

Even behind his sunglasses, he knew Maroon was looking right into his eyes. He could almost feel how tired the man's expression had become the moment those words had left his lips.

He did not respond, but Maroon took his silence as a cue to continue.

"Do you know what it's like to be seen as something to be hated? To be treated like your nothing but shit just because of how you were born? To be called a mongrel?"

Yes.

Yes, he did.

He still remained silent as Maroon let out a small hiss.

"I...we all tried to be better than those assholes. We tried to be civil when they spat in our faces, we tried to be peaceful even when they wouldn't ever do the same. But...but it wasn't working. We were still seen as animals by so many, we still couldn't get even an ounce of respect from anyone. We had families to take care of but barely anyone would hire us, and the ones that did were essentially working us to death. We were starving in the streets but no one ever helped us."

Anger consumed his voice. Maroon was no longer looking at him, but instead his eyes could only see the people who had hurt him and so many others like him.

"Nothing was working. And when our old leader stepped down, the new one that took his place saw the same thing we did. That we were still being treated like garbage, that we weren't even seen as people to humans. So...Sienna Khan changed the White Fang."

The hatred that had been growing in his expression suddenly faded. Remorse took its place as Maroon bit his lower lip.

"We went from peaceful protest to killing the people who treated us like garbage. We attacked the business and corporations that had it out for Faunus and slaughtered everyone there. We assassinated the people who were hell-bent on denying us basic rights."

The Faunus took in a shaky breath before he continued.

"I...I went along with all of it. I mean, I never once considered killing people before, but I...I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Really?"

When he spoke, his voice was hard. He hadn't meant for it to be, but his control slipped slightly.

Maroon flinched.

"I...when the White Fang changed, people were...were listening to us. Finally, we were actually making progress. With every attack, I thought that the humans realized just how much this was their fault. They were giving Faunus decent jobs, and now they could support themselves and their families. I thought that the Fang was changing Faunus lives for the better, and it was. But..."

He trailed off as he stared at his lap.

"The reason why humanity was treating Faunus better was that they were scared of us. They were terrified of what would happen if Faunus were still treated like dirt. I thought that was fine, that because they were scared of us things would get better faster. But while some things did get better, other things got worse. The fear that we caused was only amplified the hatred human's had for us. And that was before we got involved with... _h_ _er_."

Her?

He immediately felt the urge to ask who "her" was, but he held himself back. Maroon wasn't done talking, and he wanted to hear the rest of the White Fang's effect on this world.

"The ones in charge told us that even with people's hatred for Faunus increasing with every attack we launched, we were still helping. And I believed them, we all did. They told us that this was inevitable and a sign that we were getting closer to our goals. That soon humanity would learn the costs of what their hatred had done to us and we would create a better world. And I didn't start to even question their shit until..."

The sorrow that drowned Maroon's every word was almost tangible.

"When we joined forces with...that woman we became more violent than ever. We...we blew up buildings full of people. When we launched raids we no longer even bothered making sure to not hurt any civilians, whether they be Faunus or humans. And the more violent we got the more I saw that the other members seemed to be doing accepting our new actions with...glee."

There was disgust in his voice now. He especially heard it in the last word the Faunus spat out.

"I...that was when I started to question what the hell we were doing. We were killing people, humans and Faunus. We were doing shit that was so messed up and calming it was in the name of freedom. That we were...heroes. I...I couldn't be a part of that place anymore and left. I hated what I become and couldn't even look myself in the mirror. So...I left. And then I was hunted like...an animal by people I once thought were my brothers."

Maroon brought his hands to the side of his head and gripped his hair.

"Damn it...I...I still can't believe that I...that so many people killed without a second thought. I...The fuck was I thinking."

He heard a strangle sobbed escaping his lip. Maroon wiped away at the tears brimming in his eyes with his arm. The man was barely able to stop himself from breaking down right in front of him.

Well, he supposed he was wrong. The White Fang wasn't a gang.

They were domestic terrorists.

Blowing up buildings, killing innocent people in most likely the hundreds was abhorrent. And claiming that it was the right thing to do, convincing men into killing others by playing on all the hardship they all had to endure was equally repulsive. If their leader truly believed that killing innocents, even the people they were supposed to be fighting for, was "just" then he must have been the highest form of idiot on the planet.

He could perhaps respect the "goals" of the White Fang. To end racism against Faunus. He was well aware peace would not always work, so even some acts of violence he could accept if they really did help achieve their goals. But, that did not mean they had the right to delude themselves into thinking they were the "heroes" of this world. That people who killed both the innocent and the guilty could call themselves anything other than criminals.

If they couldn't see that, if they couldn't see just how atrocious their acts were, then they had no right to claim their dreams "just."

He made sure that his anger didn't show on his face. His eyes were still emotionless as they bore into Maroon who could not hold his gaze.

As he said before, Maroon was far from the cruelest person he had met. He could even understand why the Faunus had stayed with the White Fang for as long as he did. One look into his brown eyes told him everything. They told him just how badly he had suffered at humans. How he was sick of his kind being treated like trash and wanted to do something about it. And he latched onto the first thing that seemed to work, no matter how vicious said method was. He could understand that.

Just like he could understand why Maroon was running away. The man wanted to just forget his past and try to have a normal life again. And that was fine. After all, it wasn't like he could stop the White Fang. Maroon wasn't the type of man who could stand up to such an organization, he knew that.

At the very least, Maroon realized his mistakes. That was something far few people could ever do.

He let out a long breath as he reached for his cup. He took another sip of his drink. It was lukewarm now at best.

The sorrow on Maroon's expression was growing as he placed his beverage back down at the table. Now that he had a general idea about the White Fang and their effect on this world, he wanted to ask just who "her" was. The person, or perhaps group of persons, that had made that White Fang apparently act more violent than they had ever been before. But he could not do that with the man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Maroon..."

His voice was gentle, soothing even. Soft enough that his words would be comforting, yet still holding just enough sharpness that it would instantly draw one's attention but not frighten them. It was like the voice a father would use in order to console his distraught child. Warm yet firm. Calming yet just _slightly_ commanding.

It had taken him years to get that tone right.

Maroon turned his gaze towards him. There were still drops of tears in the corner of Maroon's eyes as he continued to tremble. Slowly, he reached for one of the shaking fist Maroon had placed on the table. He gently wrapped his own hand around Maroon's fist as his lips turned into a small smile.

"It's okay...it's okay. It's over now, you don't have to worry about the White Fang anymore after tonight."

Well, perhaps he should. If they had hunted him this far already, who's to say they wouldn't continue to do so even after he fled this city? Of course, he didn't say these thoughts to Maroon. Not when he needed him for one more question.

The tension in the Faunus shoulders decreased.

Adjust your tone. Make it warmer, erase any sharpness left in words. Tell this man what he wants to hear.

"You've finally escaped, and a new, quiet life is just around the corner. You've fought hard, and now it's time to rest."

Maroon's trembling soon stopped. And a small, almost unnoticeable smile graced his lips.

Finish it.

"All you have to do is answer just one more question, and your new life can begin. That's it, just one question and freedom awaits you. The men who were after you are dead, and now it could not be any easier to reach your dream. You've sinned, but that shouldn't make you feel like you don't deserve a normal life. So just answer this question, and never again do you even have to think about the White Fang."

Maroon's savior was telling him that he needn't worry. The man with calm blue eyes was staring right at the Faunus and telling him there was no need to feel bad about his past. The kind "Huntsman" was speaking with so much sympathy in his words it made Maroon feel at ease, better than the man had felt in weeks no doubt.

And he knew the Faunus would take his words to heart.

The remorse on Maroon's face faded. There was still some lingering sadness in his expression, but it was barely noticeable. And there was now a gleam in his eyes. A hopeful gleam that while small, was slowly getting bigger. He slowly pulled back his hand as Maroon uncurled his fists.

"Ye-yeah, you're right."

Maroon was nervous, but that didn't stop the gleam from growing.

"Just...Just one more question...and that's it. No more hiding from the White Fang, and I...I get a normal life."

He kept muttering those last words like a mantra. He was well aware of the desperation in Maroon's words, of the shuttering breaths the man took in...but he had to get the information he needed now. The man was slowly getting more anxious with each second, and he had to ask his question before Maroon had another panic attack.

And he had done enough for the Faunus.

His smile was replaced by a frown.

"Just one more question Maroon. That's all I need."

"O...Okay."

"Now, then..."

He let out a breath.

"Who is this 'her'."

Maroon's eyes widened.

"Wha...what? Why do you want to know that?"

"I have my reasons."

"But-."

"Maroon, answer the question."

His eyes narrowed. Every icy word he spoke was as sharp as a dozen knives. His voice let the man across from him know just how poorly this conversation could go if he didn't answer him this second.

Fear returned to Maroon's eyes as he saw the man's throat bob. His brown eyes looked away from him and to the table.

"I...you know about the Dust robberies, right?"

He decided to lie.

"Of course."

"Then you know that...Torchwick has been the one behind all of them."

He nodded. He made sure to look up this "Torchwick" later. As well as just what "Dust" was.

"But...he's not the only one. The Fang...the Fang has been helping him with his crimes."

The way Maroon said his words made it sound like the White Fang helping "Torchwick" was impossible. But if that were the case, then what changed?

He instantly had an answer.

'Her.'

"I take it that is because of whoever the White Fang got involved with, yes?"

"...Yeah."

Fear slithered in that one word.

"You still have yet to answer me, Maroon."

He saw the Faunus bite his lip.

"I...I don't know who exactly she is but..."

Despite the dread rising with his every word, Maroon still pressed forward.

"But...I was once friends with the Lieutenant of the White Fang. When we first started working with Torchwick, I...I asked him why were suddenly working with a human. And...and he said it was because...because some crazy bitch made them an offer they couldn't refuse. He said that someone...slaughtered hundreds of us and...forced us to work under her. Someone got the White Fang, one of the biggest terrorist groups on the planet, to...to bow down her basically. Someone was able to make Roman Torchwick, a man with enough resources to scare every kingpin in Vale, to serve under her. And...and..."

He was trembling again.

"Apparently...she... has some kind of plan. No one, at least not the Fang, has any idea what the hell it is...but it can't be good. You don't recruit the White Fang and steal enough dust to blow up a city for anything good. God knows what exactly she'll do, but...it's gonna happen soon. That much I'm positive on."

He could see why Maroon was so scared. Because this woman did sound terrifying. She had the strength to control such powerful groups of people the will to get these people to serve her without them even putting up a fight. And this woman was plotting something. Something that required immense preparation, from the sound of it. Something that required the aide of who knows how many criminal contacts and organizations.

Something that would most likely put thousands of people at risk.

For a moment he saw pink hair and a red fist.

He immediately crushed the anger his thoughts had brought before it could grow.

His eyes looked over Maroon. The man was still staring at the table, but he had stopped trembling. He was panting as his ears were twitching underneath his hat. He looked even more exhausted now than he did before. This conversation had taken its toll on Maroon; it looked like the man wouldn't be able to answer any more of his questions.

And that was fine.

He already answered his most important question.

"You may go now."

Maroon's head jerked upward to look at him.

"Wha-What?"

"You heard me."

He tilted his head towards a door behind him.

"The exit's right there. Take it."

Maroon did not expect his words, but to him, there was no need to continue. He had gotten enough information from the Faunus to stay inconspicuous and act like he was from this world. And right now, he would prefer to be alone. There were some things he had to go over in his head.

Maroon looked towards the exit. Then he looked back to him.

"I...Thank you. For saving my life... I...I'm really grateful."

He knew that. He couldn't possibly miss the gratitude in Maroon's every word.

"I wish you the best of luck in the future."

And he truly meant that. Because Maroon would need all the luck he could get.

The Faunus slowly rose out of his seat, adjusting the hat on his head as did so. Maroon did not run towards the exit for he did not want to attract any attention to himself. But once he pushed open the glass door, he ran. He ran down the curb of the cafe until he vanished around a corner.

And he was alone. He grabbed his chin with thumb and pointer finger as he leaned back in his seat.

Let's see...

He was in a post-apocalyptic world, but there was still a fully functioning society here. The reason for most of the world's destruction was because of the monsters that here that had apparently killed off a large population of the people here. There were only five real places left on this planet that could be called civilization. And this was mostly thanks to these "Huntsman," people with abilities that were born from their very souls called Semblances. They were similar to Stands, but it appeared no one could call about a literal being born of pure fighting spirit like he could.

And normal people could see his partner now.

One of the things he liked about his Stand was that unless there was another user like him around, for all intents and purposes Gold Experience was invisible. If he were to say be jumped by an ordinary man with a pistol, he could call Gold Experience and have it crush the pistol in the man's grip. And to the man, it would look like his gun had been just collapsed by itself. But here, that was no longer the case.

Here, if he called his Gold Experience, anyone could see it. Anyone would be able to see the glowing otherworldly being floating right beside him. It would no doubt draw a great deal of attention to himself if someone were to tell other people about his Stand. And in this world, anonymity would be key. If he used his powers without caution, he would quickly become someone who _everyone_ wanted to know more about. He remembered every Stand battle of his past, how figuring the users' true capabilities was the key to thoroughly crushing them. So in this new world, he needed to keep as much about his powers a secret as he could.

He lifted a hand and brought it up to his face. And for one second, he called on his partner. He didn't use nearly as much energy as he usually did, but instead only used a fraction of it.

In an instant, his hand turned to gold as his appendage had been replaced by his partner's.

And in the next second, it was gone. No one had been watching him, and even if they had they wouldn't have realized what he had done because it happened far too quickly.

Though, there were other ways to use his powers. He just had to be even more creative than he usually was in order to hide his true capabilities.

He made a mental note to buy gloves at some point as he stared at the ceiling.

What else...

There was something akin to the internet here. With any luck, he could perhaps steal a Scroll and gather information through it once he figured out the basics of the device. It sounded quite common, so acquiring it shouldn't take too much effort. And then there were the Huntsman, soldiers who apparently fought off the monsters that ravaged this world. But something told him that was not the only thing they did. It would be best to learn everything he could about them, from how they operate to the skill sets they might possess.

Because for all he knew, he might have to face them at some point.

Moving on...

In addition, there was another sentient race on this planet known as Faunus. They were apparently viewed as the lesser species, and the way they had been treated was so bad that a good number of them had gone from peaceful protesters to terrorists. The White Fang—that name actually sounded familiar to him, but right now he couldn't say why— apparently were working with someone named Torchwick. Something they would never do, but someone forced them too. Someone powerful. Someone ruthless.

Someone he needed to defeat.

He thought of the question, the main question that had been on his mind since before he even started talking to Maroon, but had held off on asking the Faunus.

Who ruled the underworld?

Maroon had answered that question the moment he started talking about this mysterious woman who subjugated some of the most powerful people here. The Faunus had confirmed to him that this woman was the one he needed to beat. She was the one he needed to overcome if he wanted to find even a minuscule chance of returning home. He needed resources, money, and most of all the influence in order to explore every means to try and find some way to get back. Becoming the ruler of the criminal underworld would be by far the easiest way for him.

He sighed again as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

He was under no delusions that getting home would be easy. Or even if it was possible. Defeating yet another mysterious boss hidden in the shadows would no doubt be...cumbersome, to put it lightly. And trying to recreate the process of dimensional traveling when he did not even know how he did so in the first place made his journey all the more difficult. It seemed to make returning home impossible.

But that was just a word.

And reality was far greater than any single word could ever hope to match. He would get home, he would find a way. For his friends. And his dream.

He would get back to Italy, no matter what or who stood in his way. All that was left was to find out the best way to defeat this mysterious woman. She had far more resources and power than Passione had, considering she had both a terrorist group and who knows what else under her boot.

So how would he, a man who knew barely anything about this world and who had nothing to his name save the clothes and items on him, even begin to go about defeating her?

He thought for a moment as he stared at the now cold cup of coffee on the table.

An idea soon came to his mind. And he felt his lips turned into a grin.

Well...if _that_ worked once before...he supposed it could work again.

He reached for his cup and once he brought it to his lips, he down the remainder of his drink in seconds. It was indeed cold, and now the bitter taste was very overpowering. But he didn't care.

Becuase now, he had a plan. Now, he had a _physical_ goal he could reach.

Once he was finished, he placed the cup back on the table and got up from his seat.

Now then, it was time to gather more information and as many supplies he could get in order to work out every detail of his plan. To see how it could go wrong. To see just where he needed to refine it in order for it to succeed.

He pushed open the glass door of the exit as he walked onto the curb.

First thing was first, he needed to let this woman, or at least the people who worked for her, know he was here.

It would be the courteous thing to do, after all. To let this person know that there was a danger, unlike anything this world had faced before now walking in the streets.

Mista...Trish...just wait.

He would be back soon.

 _To Be Continued~_

 **Hello, my faithful readers!**

 **So, it's been a while since I updated this story, hasn't it? Once again, sorry for the wait. I've just been working on my other JoJo crossover Gems are Unbreakable and that eats away at a majority of my spare writing time.**

 **And let me just say, thank you all so much for all the love you've already shown for this story! It only has one chapter, yet it's already gotten 22 reviews, almost 90 favorites, and almost a 100 followers! That is amazing as I have never had any story that's gotten such support from just one chapter, so truly, thank you all from the bottom of my heart!**

 **And as for the chapter itself, there are a few things I want to talk about.**

 **This chapter was...difficult, to put it lightly. I had trouble figuring out just what I wanted it to be. I took a while to even figure out how it begins, and that almost never happens with me. Eventually, I decided to make this a setup chapter for Giorno to learn more about the new world he's in as well as establish his new goals and what he plans to do.**

 **Now, I am aware that a lot of this information most readers know, but I feel like I couldn't skip over Giorno's reaction to learning more about Remnant and its people. I feel it was important to show him adapting to the new rules of this society and culture in order to properly come up with a plan of action. And if I skipped it and went straight into him already having a plan, it would feel rushed.**

 **Now, onto the beginning of this chapter, specifically the "Haruno" portions. For those of you wondering, in future chapters, there will be something similar to the foreword here. I plan on covering major aspects of Giorno's past, original events that take place during Vento Aureo that delve deeper into his relationship with Bruno's gang from when he first joined to the end. Until finally, we get to the point where how exactly he got to Remnant is revealed. It might not be every chapter, or perhaps there will be interludes that are made up of nothing but Giorno's past and his interactions with the Gang, right now I can't say.**

 **But what I can say is that the next chapter will be action packed. In it, Giorno well meet two major characters...just not the ones you're thinking about.**

 **And on that note, let me address a question a lot of people have had about this story. Many have asked me if Giorno will attend Beacon and join Ruby and the rest of her team. He will not. In this story, Giorno isn't going to be a "hero." At best, he will be the anti-hero and at worst...well, you'll see.**

 **If you guys have any thoughts, theories, or suggestions you can post them in the reviews! Or if you just want to have a general discussion, I posted this story on Space Battles so head on over there with any questions you might have.**

 **This is The Black Mage of Phantasm signing off. Peace!**

 **And next time:**

 **Chapter 3: Tactics**


	3. Tactics

**_Chapter 3: Tactics_**

The taste of his cigar did not comfort him as it usually did. He turned the page of the newspaper in his hands as his scowl deepened.

Roman Torchwick was reading a rather interesting article. He leaned further against the wooden chair he had been sitting in as he exhaled an averag—for him—size puff of smoke.

Currently, he was sitting in one of the bars that he owned. Well, owned in the sense that one of the many aliases he used was written on all the papers and documents for this place, but his boys were the ones that kept it in shape. Everything here from the service to even the smell seemed like that of a perfectly average bar. But it was just a front he mostly used nowadays to keep any spare supplies he might need for a heist.

And today, neither his men nor anyone else was in the bar. Today, he had told his men to go guard the Dust containers along with the other grunts.

Today, he sat with nothing but the newspaper keeping him company—the dark tinted windows of the bar preventing anyone from peaking inside and seeing him. Because right now, he needed to be alone and away from everything. And it was places like these—hideouts and fronts he owned—that made him feel at ease. It reminded him of times when the only things he had to worry about were the police and other criminals who were stupid enough to try and take him down.

Places like these reminded him of a time before he met _her._

He continued to drag on his cigar as he flipped through another page.

And it was mostly because of _her_ that he found himself so irritated. It was because of _her_ that he had to deal with the...predicament he found himself in as quickly as possible.

Otherwise...

His eyes narrowed at the paper in his hand.

He was reading a charming little article published by _Vale Weekly._ It described how yet another Dust store had been robbed clean. It had happened in the dead night, and no one had seen what had happened. But in the morning when the owner had gone to open his store, he found all his precious commodity stolen. There were no broken windows, the doors hadn't been forced open, and there were no signs that anyone had broken in. The police were clueless as to how the thieves pulled off this robbery, but they already had a suspect in their mind. Why, obviously, it was Roman Torchwick and his men that had pulled off such a flawless heist. Obviously, the man that had been stealing Dust left and right from who knows how many stores had once again struck. So, both the police and the journalists had just added this theft to the long list of crimes he had already committed.

There was just one, itty bitty problem with that. Just one thing that _might_ throw the police for a little loop.

He had stolen _jack shit._

Oh, he had been planning to steal from there. It was one of the few Dust shops left that he hadn't already hit, and he had given his men the job to steal from it without his help. He had been busy with taking stock of all the Dust they had already stolen, so he couldn't go even if he wanted to. But even without his help, his men were competent enough to steal without him constantly holding their hand.

But when they had reported back to him after they left said Dust store, they told him that someone had _already_ beat them to the punch. Every inch of Dust that was in that store—which they were positive they had seen lining the shelves just moments before they snuck in—had disappeared right in front of them.

He would have called them idiots—far more harshly than usual, anyway—and punished them for their own stupidity…were it not for the fact this was the hundredth damn time something like this had happened!

He growled.

Yes, somehow, someway, _someone_ was stealing dust from literally right under his men. The first time it had happened, he just assumed the men he sent were morons—which was not entirely wrong—and dismissed it after punishing them. The second time it happened, he realized that something was going on. Maybe some arrogant wannabe thought it would be smart to try and move in on one of the most powerful criminal in Vale's territory. So, the next time they went out, he had accompanied them. Sometimes one had to deal with pest themselves.

But the same thing happened _again_. Only this time, they had broken into a secure vault—which he _knew_ was supposed to be filled with briefcases of rare and valuable Dust— only to find nothing.

The only thing he saw were _flies_ buzzing in the vault.

Someone had literally pulled off a crime—and as much as he hated to admit, a seemingly _flawless_ crime—right in front of him.

It was right then and there he swore to find whoever was doing this and make them wish they were dead after he was done with them.

But so far, he had no luck finding said future dead man.

No matter what he tried, he couldn't find the little shit who kept stealing from him. The bastard somehow kept stealing right in front of his men—and sometimes he even stole their equipment and weapons just too further insult them. He even stole from under _Neo's_ nose at one point. Neo was especially irked that day, and she had become more… _enthusiastic_ about trying to catch their little nuisance since.

He had asked every one of his contacts in the black market if they had seen or heard of someone trying to sell large quantities of Dust. Ever since he started robbing every bit of Dust from Vale, he had sent an unspoken rule to other criminals that if they so much as _thought_ about trying to impeach on his business, there would be consequences to face.

But no one—not a single one of his contacts—had seen anyone trying to unload _any_ shipments of Dust. Which meant one of two things.

Either this bastard had somehow established a connection with a buyer for Dust that not even _he_ knew about…or, the bastard was just hoarding the Dust. Not selling it—maybe using it for himself—and not even trying to find someone to buy his newly acquired merchandise.

All just to mock _him._ To tell the biggest kingpin in Vale that a bastard just stole from him, and he wasn't even going to sell it.

He almost ripped the newspaper in his hands in two.

Damn it. This had been going on for _months._ It had been going on even before he had to fight Red and her friends on the docks. Hell, that had been a part of the reason he wanted to supervise those animals shipping his containers of Dust back to their boss. Just in case that bastard got too cocky, he wanted to be the one to slam him into the ground with his cane.

Of course, he was aware that, in the long run, whoever stole from him hadn't put too much of a dent in his overall acquirement of the city's Dust. The bastard responsible for this might have stolen a lot of Dust in such short time—almost as much as himself when he had first started his wonderful career—but in the end, he still had more than enough Dust. One man alone could not bring down a master criminal and the abundant resources he held. Technically speaking, whoever stole from him could continue to do so for as many months as he wanted, and there would still be warehouses full of Dust with little to no space to spare.

But it was the fact that this bastard was basically _spitting in his face_ that bothered him so much. When a thief steals something like Dust, its expected they sell it to the highest bidder. Not just by the police, but by other criminals as well. After all, no one would go to all the trouble of setting up a heist and _not_ make a profit off of whatever they stole. If they did that, well…

The person responsible might as well not be a thief.

And the one who stole from him was not. No, he was something worse.

He was an arrogant shit that thought he could impeach on his game.

If anything else, this bastard had his attention now.

He let out another smoke-filled breath.

And also…there was another reason as to why he was so angered by this "thief." Far more than he usually would have been, anyway.

Her.

 _You want all the Dust in this city?_

 _Yes. Can you manage?_

 _Gorgeous, I'm the biggest criminal here. If anyone can do it, it's me. It'll take some time granted, but I can promise you that I'll have as much Dust as I can-._

 _No._

 _…I'm sorry?_

 _I said no._

 _…Look, if you expect me to be able to steal_ entire warehouses _worth of Dust in anytime shorter than say, a year and a half, and that's including all the other stuff you expect me to do, then you're delusional. I need time, and no other criminal will be able to do what I can so-._

 _Time is not the issue._

 _…What?_

He still remembered the look she had on. Her eyes—bright amber—staring right through him. Like she could see everything about him with just her gaze—and she was far from happy about what she saw.

 _Both myself and my associates are perfectly content to wait as long as we have to._

He could still hear just how emotionless her voice had been.

 _…Then what's the problem?_

 _The problem is…_

Those amber eyes of hers had suddenly gleamed—he still swore he saw orange flashing through her pupils—and he had taken a step back. He had dealt with so many criminals—murders, thieves, rapist, terrorist, corrupt politicians—and had always looked into their eyes. The people in the past he had dealt with had done so many despicable things—cruel and horrible things that he could see in their faces—but he always held his gaze and saw exactly what made them tick. It was one of the benefits of being in this business so long—being able to read a person and determining just _who_ exactly he was dealing with in seconds. He could always tell _who_ exactly thought had the nerve or moxy to approach him just by staring at them.

But… when he had looked into _her_ eyes…for the first time in his life he did not feel like he was dealing with a _who._

Instead, he felt he was dealing with a _what._

As in, _what_ the hell kind of monster are you?

 _I don't want you to steal "as much as you can." I want you to steal every. Last. Bit of Dust from Vale._

He had never, _ever_ felt the desire to run just form staring at someone. The _terror_ he had felt from just staring into her eyes—cold, unfeeling, and empty eyes—shouldn't have been possible. The sheer malice he saw in them was unlike anything he had seen from anyone—from the worse criminals to even _Grimm_. Literal monsters of pure spite couldn't compare to this woman's hatred—and in that moment, he knew that no one else he would ever meet could.

In that moment, Cinder Fall had cemented herself as the most terrifying and powerful person he had ever met.

 _Do you understand?_

 _…O-Of course, ma'am._

 _Good._

He shivered.

Damn it. Of all the people he had the displeasure of working for—not with, she made it very clear that he was one of _her_ subordinates—Cinder was easily the worst. Because she was someone who could actually kill him. Who wouldn't hesitate to burn him to ash if he so much as made one mistake. Someone who… _scared_ him.

And he absolutely _loathed_ admitting that.

He took an even longer drag on his cigar this time—teeth biting into the skin far more harshly than needed.

If she found out about this, that someone was stealing from him and continued to do so, she would be… _Vexed_ , to put it lightly. That bitch was a damn perfectionist, expecting the same mentality from everyone who served her. God help you if you screw up, because if you did your good as gone.

He placed the paper down on the counter in front of him, bringing up one gloved hand to massage the bridge of his nose. Shit. He should have never accepted that meeting with her. Then the worries of him being _lit on fire_ would be significantly less than they were now.

The one good thing about this mess was that Cinder had not even the most remote suspicions that something was going on. Why would she? The newspapers were claiming he stole them and he made sure that every single one of his men kept silent about this—otherwise, there would be consequences to face. So, as far as Cinder knew, everything was going according to plan.

He looked at the paper as his eyes turned into a glare.

He had no idea what whoever was stealing from him wanted. He—or perhaps it was a they—hadn't claimed responsibly for any of the robberies to any news outlet—but then again, that could be because no one would believe him. So, what was the point? He had obtained far more dust than any one person could use, and he wasn't selling it. And now he had painted a very large target on his back

Whoever was doing this had to be up to something. There had to be more to it than just wanting to spit in his face. This mess he was in…it didn't feel like it was caused by someone who just wanted to settle a score or mock him.

Another smoke-filled breath left his mouth.

Well, it didn't really matter _why_ this person was doing this. All that mattered was making sure that he died before Cinder could get the chance to figure out what was going on.

He slowly got up from his chair.

He supposed that he was lucky that his boss would be—in her words—"occupied" for the next few days, possibly weeks. And whatever or whoever was keeping her busy, it meant that for the foreseeable future, she wouldn't be able to come to Vale.

And that was perfect. It would give him more time to take care of this little mess.

He walked around the counter to a wooden door—passing by the rows of liquor that would make any alcoholic weep. He didn't go out the front door because it was still daytime, so he had to go downstairs and leave through the door down there.

He removed the cigar in his mouth before smothering it on a nearby ashtray and then throwing into a garbage can. He then pushed open the door at the back of the bar and proceeded to walk down the staircase to the basement.

The only other problem he had to deal with—and things like police or hunters or the mongrel Cinder told him to get rid of or even Red and her friends didn't count because he had a handle on those things—was Cinder's brats. While Mrs. Firecracker couldn't come to Vale, that did not mean her pets couldn't. And that meant he had to keep this little problem away from them or else they'll instantly rat him out to the crazy bitch.

He let out another sigh.

Damn it. He could already feel the headache coming. Cinder had informed him that they would be arriving today, so it would be in his best interest to get back to the warehouse they agreed to meet.

He took out a scroll as he continued to descend the stairway towards the dark, moist—somehow—basement. He checked the time and saw he had roughly an hour before they should arrive.

Great. There was only an hour left before he'd have to deal with yet _another_ reminder of the crazy bitch that dragged him into her schemes.

His fingers dug into his leather gloves.

God damn it.

* * *

This mission was one of the more boring ones they had taken up. And the quicker they cleaned up this mess, the better. They had things to do after this.

Seriously, what was that chain smoking asshole doing? Leaving someone that apparently, Taurus thought was a big enough threat to personally ask Cinder for help alive for this long was more than just stupid. What exactly his new target knew, he couldn't say. Not that it mattered. Because whatever this Faunus knew, it was enough for Cinder to order Roman to locate and terminate him as quickly as possible.

He flipped through another page of the book in his hands. And by God, it was awful. Though, the title— _The Man with Two Souls—_ probably should have told him that, in hindsight.

While Cinder had only asked them to lay low, for the time being, they had figured that it would be best to make sure that the situation was handled. And learning that the traitor was still breathing, they decided to act. It would be boring, but hey, they couldn't risk anything this late into their plan. And as usual, Emerald was just happy to serve their boss-no matter how tedious or dull their job might have been.

Though, just because a mission itself was boring, that did not mean they couldn't make it fun.

"What about… Third Crusade?"

And, _there_ it was.

Mercury Black glanced at the soon-to-be dead man behind the counter. The moment Emerald had spoken those words, Tukson's expression hardened; trying not to show any emotion.

Unfortunately for the Faunus, he didn't do a very good job.

"I…don't believe we carry that one ."

Tukson's voice was careful, almost calm. His eyes drifted from Emerald to him, searching them. Trying to see just what he had gotten into. The fact that the idiot hadn't realized he was already dead almost made him laugh. But instead, he just settled for closing the book in his hand as loudly as possible. He made sure that he had on his most innocent expression as he looked up at Tukson with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh?"

He tilted his head ever so slightly as Emerald took a step closer to the counter, lips twisting into her practiced smile.

"What was this place called again?"

The Faunus' once again glanced from Emerald to him.

"Tukson's Book Trade."

"And…you're Tukson?"

Emerald's voice was playful now as the Faunus nodded his head.

"So then I take it that you're the one who came with the catchphrase?"

"That's right."

He took that moment to speak—shrugging his shoulders as he did so.

"And, what was it again?"

He made sure that Tukson could see the fake curiosity in his words. The Faunus let out a sigh before he answered.

"Tukson's Book Trade, home to every book under the sun."

"Except, the Third Crusade."

He smiled, pointing a lazy finger as Tukson stared at the both of them—placing his large hands on the counter.

"It's…just a slogan."

"It's false advertising!"

And really, it was. He always found it irritating how places like these always made big claims but could never back them up. Like the pizza shop that said it had the best pizza in the entire kingdom. The slices there were average at best, and the sauce tasted like crap.

"You shouldn't make a promise you can't keep, Tukson."

As Emerald spoke, he watched as the Faunus' head turn slightly before he stopped himself—like he wanted to look behind him. To look at the doors only a few feet away. Did he want to run? Well, if so, Tukson was welcome to try.

He had experience in hunting fleeing animals.

Slowly, he moved towards the light switches near the entrance; never taking his eyes off the Faunus.

"I hear you're planning on leaving. Moving all the way to Vacuo."

He didn't need to see Emerald's face to know that her smile had become cold. His hand slowly moved towards the switches on the wall.

"Your brothers in the White Fang wouldn't be happy to hear that."

He turned off a switch, the store immediately darkening as half of the lights went off.

"And neither are we."

With Emerald's words, most of the lights were now off—save a few here and there on the ceiling. The store was now covered in darkness—making it impossible for anyone outside to possibly see what was going on.

The Faunus' entire body tensed, And he saw the man's eyes narrow.

"You know who we are, don't you?"

He was already walking towards the two of them as Emerald spoke, footsteps echoing in the silent store.

Tukson's frown became deeper.

"Yes."

"And you know why we're here?"

When he reached Emerald, his partner's entire posture had become blasé, not even seeing this man as any sort of threat whatsoever. And really, she had every right to feel like that.

"Yes."

And the fear he had seen in Tukson's eyes—the fear that made him positive he would at least get some fun out of this—grew. Tukson tried not to show how scared he was of them, but there was no way this dead man could hide his fear from him.

He watched as the Faunus slowly clenched his fists.

"So…"

Emerald purposefully trailed off as one hand moved towards her thigh-inches away from the holster that kept her weapon.

"Are you going to-?"

She didn't finish. Because just as she was about to, the doors behind the Faunus opened. He saw Tukson's eyes widen as he whipped his head behind him.

And out stepped a person, a man to be specific. It was a bit hard to see with the lights off, but in an instant, he took in as many details about the man calmly walking out of the backroom as he could. He saw that the man had bright yellow hair. He had on some kind of blue suit with—if he was seeing this correctly—his chest exposed by a large hole in the shape of a heart.

And he saw that the man hadn't even noticed them as his eyes were firmly fixed on the book he was reading in one hand. The other held a bag of, what he guessed, were even more books.

And then Blondie spoke.

"Tukson, I believe that one of your shelves is in need of repair. It's almost falling apart and-"

Blondie's blue eyes slowly looked up from his book, and he finally noticed both him and Emerald as he stopped talking.

The fear within the future dead man's eyes had grown again. There was worry in his expression now as he took a step in front of Blondie.

"Who's your friend, Tukson?"

He glanced and saw that Emerald's grin had widened just the tiniest bit. The Faunus immediately tensed once he heard Emerald's words as he shot a glance to Blondie.

"No one. Just a customer."

He saw Tukson's eyes narrow at Blondie.

"Someone who was just leaving."

Blondie blinked a few times at the Faunus' words.

"But I haven't even paid for the books-."

"They're on the house, Giorno. Consider it a gift. Now, just leave."

"Giorno, huh? That's your name?"

Emerald was now leaning on the counter as Blondie slowly turned to look at her.

"Yes, that's right."

"Giorno-!"

"Hey now Tukson, no need to be so aggressive. Blondie here doesn't have to leave."

His lips curled into a small smile as he looked right into the Faunus eyes.

"We're just a couple of friends having a conversation, after all."

He made sure that Tukson could see the threat lurking within his words as he shot a glance at Blondie.

Try anything, he dies. Horribly.

Tukson grit his teeth. But besides that, he gave no other response. Clearly, the Faunus cared for Blondie. So much so that he didn't even try attacking them just because of one measly threat. How sweet.

But if the ex-spy for the White Fang thought that either he or Blondie were making it out alive…he'd be disappointed.

He turned his head towards Blondie.

"Hey, what kind of books you got there?"

God damn, did Blondie have some shit luck. Of all days he could have gone book shopping, he had to pick the day they come. And the poor bastard didn't even realize what was happening. He looked lost as he stood by Tukson, not understanding what was going on in the slightest. He didn't pick up on any of the subtle, threatening gestures Emerald made. He didn't pick up on the fact that the Faunus was practically begging him to leave with his eyes.

And the fact that he slowly walked away from Tukson—almost like he was taking a stroll and not towards his own death—confirmed just how much of an idiot he really was.

"Giorno, don-!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Emerald's smile vanish as she glared at Tukson. Their target immediately silenced himself, looking down as his body shook.

Blondie was a few feet away from the counter.

"Well, one's about general history. Rise and fall of human colonies, the relationships between Humans and Faunus over the years, and just general background on the use of Dust."

Now that Blondie was closer, he could make out more details about the man. He was younger than Tukson—though, how old Blondie was exactly, he couldn't tell. He was maybe a bit taller than Emerald and was kinda muscular. Though, the fact that he had molded his hair into what looked like Swiss rolls—the man even had a braided hair tail hanging on the back of his neck—took away from any intimidating factor he might have had. Seriously, it was like Roman and his eyeliner—he never understood what kind of guy would purposefully do something so…girly.

His lips moved into a small grin. Considering the way Blondie took so much effort into curling his hair, he supposed Goldie—short for Goldielocks—would be a better nickname.

"Fascinating."

He heard Emerald chuckle. And without even turning around, he knew that she was just as eager to get started as he was. She might try to hide it, but he could tell. Because she could be just as sadistic as him when she wanted to be.

"The one I was just reading was about modern weapons for Huntsmen while the other was just an adventure novel about a village protecting their town from a group of bandits."

Goldie didn't seem to notice the sarcasm in his voice, even though he wasn't even bothering to hide it anymore. Goldie opened the swinging door on the counter and proceeded to get closer. Still not noticing just how tense his friend was getting. Or how Emerald's hands were now on her holster as she smiled. Did he even notice the lights were off?

He chuckled. And Goldie continued talking as he got closer. He supposed he could attack him now…but, this was just too funny to stop now. He couldn't help but laugh at the fact that this moron still didn't understand what kind of mess he just walked into.

"Though, there is just one problem I have with the novel."

"Oh? What's that?"

"It's the way the author wrote the fights. They seem so…unrealistic."

Goldie was about ten feet away now.

"It's a book. It ain't real. What did you expect?"

"I am aware of that. But, it's just, whoever wrote this clearly has no idea as to what goes on in a fight."

Eight feet away now. And his grin turned into a smirk as Goldie glanced to the ceiling—not even paying attention to the man who could kill him in an instant.

"He doesn't seem to get the one thing that truly decides a fight."

Once again, he chuckled.

"And what's that."

"Tactics."

And then there was a change. And when he saw it, he blinked.

Throughout their talk, Goldie had seem…unassuming. Goldie had moved like a just every other average man or woman he might meet on the street. He had moved like a civilian.

But now...his stride was different.

"Whoever wrote this seems to think that every type of fight is nothing more than back alley drunks hitting each other until one is unconscious. He doesn't seem to get that when one fights, a great deal of planning goes to work."

Even though all Goldie did was take a single step forward, he could see it. His entire posture had changed with that one step—now more straight and confident than it had been before. He shot a glance and saw that Emerald was still smiling and that Tukson was only seconds away from jumping over the counter. They didn't seem to notice Goldie's sudden change.

"He doesn't seem to get that before one punch has even been thrown…"

Goldie took one more step forward—not even five feet away now—as the man's eyes slowly fell from the ceiling towards him

And they weren't anything like what he had seen before. Before, the blue eyes he had seen were confused and lost.

Now, they were cold. Calculating.

"A battle has already been fought, and the victor long since decided."

Goldie's voice had gone from conversational to subzero in an instant. Like every word had a blizzard within them. There was nothing but malice in the blue eyes glaring at him.

His smirk had been replaced by a deep frown.

Crap. He wasn't dealing with some random blonde. He was dealing with a damn _killer._

"Wouldn't you agree?"

His eyes narrowed as Goldie tilted his head to one side. He had made a mistake. Goldie had tricked him into lowering his guard, and he let the man get far to close

He was already shifting into his stance, about to strike before Goldie could. He had to act now before-.

He felt something crawling on him. Two somethings, in fact.

And then he heard twin hissing sounds.

"What the-Mercury! Your arms!"

With Emerald's panicked scream, he looked down.

And he saw two objects constricting around both his arms. Two _things_ with smooth scales and leathery skin. And when he saw their eyes—eyes that were even blacker than the darkness of the store—he realized what was wrapped around his arms.

Snakes. Snakes that were only tightening their grip on his arms with every second. Snakes whose fangs he could dimly see reflecting what little light was left in the store.

His eyes widened.

"What the hell-!"

Before he could finish, the two snakes suddenly bit into both arms at the same time. His Aura immediately activated, protecting his arms and not allowing the fangs to pierce his skin. But they still stung like a bitch. He let out a grunt, and when he realized he had taken his eyes off Goldie for far too long, he looked up.

And he saw a gloved fist heading right towards his chin. It was too close to dodge, and he didn't have the time to deflect.

So, he braced himself as he grit his teeth in preparation. And not even a second later, Goldie's fist made contact with the underside of his chin. He waited for the pain; for the moment he needed to roll along with the punch to reduce the impact.

Except the pain never came. There was no rush of Aura to his chin to protect him from Goldie's punch. There was no sound of his chin getting smashed by Goldie's fist.

There was just…nothing. He felt absolutely _nothing_ whatsoever.

He glanced down and saw that Goldie's fist was still connected to his chin. It hadn't smashed into his chin like how he had thought would happen, but more like…gently tap it. Goldie's head was bent down so he couldn't see the man's face—eyes shadowed by his hair—but he could see that Goldie made no move to pull back his fist. The man just stood perfectly still in his slightly hunched positon-like he was waiting for something.

He hadn't moved an inch since the fist tapped his chin—expecting Goldie to do _something_.

A few seconds past…and nothing happened.

And he laughed. Seriously, that was it? Had he just imagined the look in his eyes before? That pathetic little blow couldn't even harm a baby much less-.

He realized something.

He hadn't laughed. He wanted to laugh, but he hadn't. Not a single sound escaped his mouth.

Because he found he couldn't move his lips in the slightest.

Or his legs.

Or his arms.

Or any part of his body—like he was frozen to the spot.

The only thing he could do was glance around with his eyes.

What the…

He tried to move. He tried to attack Goldie, but he couldn't so much as twitch. He was paralyzed, every part of his body refusing to listen as he continued to try and do _something._

He glanced at Emerald—who was only staring at him with wide eyes and simply standing by the counter doing nothing. What the hell was wrong with her!? Couldn't she see that something was wrong!? He hadn't moved for who knows how long so why-!?

It was when his eyes were flickering everywhere that he saw something.

Sweat.

Sweat, dripping down Tukson's brow. A single trail of sweat that he was _somehow_ able to see as if he was only inches away from their target's face and he wasn't in a dark bookstore.

Sweat—that for some reason—wasn't moving at all.

If it were possible, his eyes would have widened. What was going-!

He never finished those thoughts as he felt something within his chin.

Blinding. Red hot. Pain.

He would have grit his teeth, but he couldn't. The only thing he could do was stay motionless as some of the most intense pain he had ever felt erupted in his chin.

He glanced down to see what was going on.

And he saw Goldie's fist move. It was only an inch—if that—but he saw it move. He saw Goldie's knuckles dig deeper into his chin. He saw Goldie push his fist just a little bit more into his skin.

And that was all it took for another wave of agony to spread throughout his body.

What-!

He still couldn't move as Goldie's fist continued to slowly dig into his chin. And the pain became scalding.

The-!

Goldie's fist was moving faster, and he heard something _crack_ as the pain grew.

Hell!

There was a moment where everything seemed to go back to normal. He saw Emerald actually moving now—hands on her weapon as she turned, just about to strike. He saw Tukson growling as he jumped onto the counter.

And he saw Goldie follow through with his punch as he was sent flying upward. Blood gushed from his mouth as his head snapped up from the force of the blow. And his eyes widened as he saw he was quickly careening towards the ceiling. He could do nothing to stop his flight—so once again—he braced himself as he quickly crossed his arms in front of him.

His body made contact with the ceiling with a loud crash-the wood splintering on impact as his vision darkened. A new pain erupted in his head, and his body rapidly descended back down to the ground.

And as he tried to get his vision working again, he could hear noises as he fell.

He heard Emerald let out a startled yelp. He heard more growling.

The darkness surrounding his eyes faded and he could see again.

And he suddenly found himself staring at calm, absolutely _menacing_ blue eyes glaring up at his falling form.

Before he got a chance to react, Goldie threw a hook right into his cheek just as he got into the man's range.

Once again, he didn't so much as twitch when the punch connected. He didn't so much as feel even the slightest pain from Goldie's punch.

The only thing he felt when the fist hit him was that—for some reason—it almost felt like he was… was…

His eyes hadn't popped out of their sockets at what he was seeing, but that was only because it was currently impossible to do so.

Because right now, he saw that he was floating. His body was unable to move again—paralyzed from whatever the hell Goldie was doing— but he could still use his eyes. He could still see Goldie's fist touching his cheek as he found himself _somehow_ suspended in mid-air. He could see Tukson slamming into Emerald and inches away from colliding with the ground…but they never touched the floor.

Because—just like him—they weren't moving. They were _somehow_ frozen in mid-action when that shouldn't have been possible. It was like…like… someone had freakin stopped _time_ or some shit! But there was no way that was possible! Even considering half the crap he had seen since he joined Cinder, something like this—someone who actually had the power to stop damn time—shouldn't have been-!

No…wait…

They were moving. And so was he. He hadn't noticed until right now, but he _was_ still falling. It had taken a moment, but he could actually _feel_ his body descending down to the ground. And as his eyes glanced everywhere, he could actually see Emerald was still moving to the ground as well.

Just… _really_ slowly.

It was like before with the sweat. His vision had become so great that he could see in so much more detail. He could actually _see_ his partner slowly moving towards the ground—like she was being gently pushed towards the floor. He could see Tukson's mouth widening at a snail's pace—and he could see globs of spit leaving the Faunus' mouth, moving barely an inch in the air as they just seemed to float.

If they could've, his black eyes would've widened.

The world hadn't stopped moving. Everything was just in…slow motion.

Pain suddenly erupted in his cheeks. He immediately glanced to the source of the pain, and saw Goldie's fist moving faster. He could feel his teeth rattling as Goldie's fist continued to dig into his cheek.

And after a few seconds—though really, it might as well have been _hours—_ of Goldie's fist smashing against his cheek as slowly as humanly possible, he saw the world went back to normal. He saw Emerald and Tukson finally hitting the ground.

And he saw Goldie finally follow through with his punch as he was sent flying again. His cheek was roaring with pain as he careened through the air—his body slamming through row after row of bookshelves. He could feel his Aura diminish with each hit as his flight came to an end when he hit the window at the front of the shop face first. He felt the glass window shake from the impac—though, surprisingly it didn't break—as he bounced off it and to the floor.

His head was ringing as he quickly got into a half-crouched position, one leg resting on the ground as he shook his head to try and rid himself of his dizziness.

He cracked his eyes open as he turned his head back.

And he saw Goldie sprinting towards him—jumping over the shelves he had knocked down in his flight. Goldie was about halfway across from him now, and if he didn't get up soon, then he could already see himself going through whatever crap Goldie had done to him before with his last two hits.

He snarled.

Yeah, no thanks.

From his position on the ground, he thrust one leg backward, and his weapon activated. A compressed, white ball shot from the sole of his boot. The white blast headed right towards Goldie, whose eyes widened as he quickly dove to the floor. The explosive Dust round went over Goldie's head and crashed into the back doors he had emerged from, exploding on impact.

As wood and splinters were shot into the air—and some smoke—he quickly placed a hand on the ground. He then got into a one armed-handstand, swinging one leg up in the process as the other waited on the ground, and fired at another blast at Goldie. The man quickly jumped from his spot behind a fallen bookshelf and avoided the blast just as the Dust round hit the wooden shelf.

More splinters and burnt pages erupted in the air, but he paid those things no mind as his black eyes followed Goldie's running form.

He placed his right hand on the ground and shifted his weight there. He then quickly brought his raised leg back to the ground before lifting the other one up and swinging it around—twisting his body as he spun so he could get a better aim at Goldie. Another white blast fired from his boot, but once again Goldie dodged by going into a roll as the dust round sailed over his head.

When it crashed into another wall, this time he heard Emerald let out a startled yelp.

"Mercury, watch where you're firing your-!"

He didn't listen to whatever else she said—didn't care either. His eyes were narrowed, his focus entirely on Goldie as the man continued his sprint towards him.

Under no circumstance was he letting this man get close again.

He continued to snap out with his legs every time he spun and shifted his body—dust round after dust round firing right towards Goldie. He was swinging his legs so quickly that there was no way any normal man could have possibly kept track of his movements. Every time he shifted to the next arm, he would swing his other leg to replace the one that had just fired and let loose as many shots as he could. A barrage of white bullets headed right for Goldie, and there was no way he could have dodged.

If Goldie was a just a regular, average man, of course.

But since he wasn't, when Goldie saw the white balls heading towards him, his only response had been to slam a leg onto the ground.

And that was enough to propel him up through the air, avoiding the explosive Dust rounds with ease as they slammed into several shelves behind Goldie in a burst of smoke. Goldie came close to hitting the ceiling, but he just avoided it as the man descended back to the ground and right towards him.

And as Goldie fell, he saw that the man was now holding something in his hands before Goldie pulled his arms back and chucked them forward.

Without wasting a second, he pushed off the ground and handspring backward—just dodging whatever objects Goldie just threw at him as he heard something slam into the ground. After getting a good distance away, he stopped his handsprings and landed on his feet—seeing the objects that had just dodged.

Books. Hardback texts that had been thrown with enough force to embed themselves into the wooden floor.

His eyes shot up and saw Goldie land near the books he had thrown. Emotionless blue eyes glared at him as Goldie rushed forward.

Yeah, he definitely wasn't letting Goldie punch him again.

Just as he got into his stance—bending his legs and bringing his arms up to his ribs—Tukson came flying from somewhere in the store and slid on the floor towards Goldie, who stopped running just as the former White Fang member would have crashed into him. Instead, their target collided with one of the bookshelves he had destroyed with his Dust rounds.

"Mercury, I'm going to say this as calmly as I can."

He turned his head to the voice that had suddenly spoken and saw Emerald walking towards him before she stopped by his side.

"Stop using your damn weapons in here!"

She was by no means calm. The glare Emerald sent him was fierce as her grip on her two weapons tightened—his partner now tempted to use said weapons to shoot him the face. It had been a while since she had gotten _this_ annoyed at him.

And he might have shot back with some snappy—and clever—reply…but he didn't.

Because he was still staring at Goldie—who was now helping their target back onto his feet—with narrowed eyes.

"Mercury?"

He gave Emerald a quick glance and saw her raise an eyebrow at him. She then blinked a few times before she spoke—lowering her voice so that it was barely as loud as a whisper.

"Are you low on Aura?"

He blinked.

"What? No."

He replied in an equally quiet voice

"Then why are there bruises on your face?"

He blinked again. And then he slowly brought a hand to the side of his face.

He didn't wince—because he had felt _much worse_ pain than this—but he still felt a sharp sting the moment his fingers made contact with his cheek. And he realized that, yes, there was a bruise on his cheek. And now that he wasn't entirely focused on Goldie, he could also feel a similar pain aching in his chin.

But…that shouldn't be possible.

Goldie was strong—incredibly so—but that shouldn't matter. Because there shouldn't be any bruises on his body. He had plenty of Aura left inside him, so it should have guarded him against Goldie's strikes—to prevent there from being any bruises in the first place. He would still feel the pain of course, but so long as Goldie didn't get the drop on him, his Aura should have protected him.

But it seemed like it hadn't. Instead, his body was wasting more Aura healing his injuries instead of just protecting him from harm.

And as he felt his Aura slowly fixing the bruises on his face, he grit his teeth as he stared at Goldie. Goldie was now glaring at the both of them from across the room as Tukson stood next to him—bruises present on their target's skin as he held out his hands, claws extending from his fingers.

Damn it, what the hell was Goldie's deal?! Just what the hell had that man done to him? In his mind, he could see himself frozen again as everything around him moved in slow motion. He had never experienced _anything_ like that before. Was that his Semblance? Then how the hell did it work? How the hell was he supposed to fight back against-!

 _Listen up boy, because I'm only gonna tell you this once._

Those words interrupted his thoughts. Those words—spoken in that damn slow, impatient drawl—made him freeze for just a second.

Because those words belonged to his dear, old, Dad.

 _There's some strange shit in this world. Grimm, bastards with animal parts on their bodies, magic powder that can cause things from explosions to damn lightning…_

For a moment, he could smell nothing but booze.

 _And now, you're a part of that strange little world. Because now, you have a Semblance. A power that makes you stand out from the rest. That makes you different. But make no mistakes, just cause you're different doesn't make you special. There are other people with powers in this damn hellhole too._

He could almost see his Dad right in front of him, sipping from his flask as the old bastard glared at him. And one look at that bastard's eyes—even when they were hazy from booze—told him just how good his Dad had been at killing. Those cold, black eyes told him just how easy it would be for his Dad to end his life.

 _But it doesn't matter. Because no matter what kind of strange bullshit powers a man has, all you have to do is find a way around their bullshit. All you have to do is find the quickest way to kill those shitheads. Because no matter what kind of power, no matter how strong a man might be…they still die._

He let out a breath. And his eyes narrowed at Goldie.

 _Death comes to everybody. And it's up to_ you _to decide just how it happens._

He hated the fact it was the words of that old bastard that actually calmed his nerves, but while Marcus Black was a shitty Dad, at the very least the man gave decent advice when it came to fights.

Any _person_ can die. All he had to do was figure out the method to do so.

He reviewed what happened in his mind. He remembered how everything seemed so…slow.

But it was only when Goldie had touched him that he had felt frozen. It was only when the man's fists had made contact that the world around slowed down.

His eyes glanced to the white gloves Goldie wore—and the green ladybug emblems on top of them. It was obvious that Goldie had a Semblance—something that was activated by touch. But was it just through his hands? What about his legs? Or any part of his body?

It took some effort not to sigh and keep his expression blank. Great. He hated getting into these types of fights. Where for once it wasn't overtly obvious what their opponent's exact capabilities were.

"Don't let Goldie over there hit you. Or even touch you."

His voice was grave. He didn't give Emerald his usual cocky smirk, and his partner's expression became solemn.

"He has a Semblance?"

"Yep. And it's pretty nasty."

He placed his hand back on his cheek. By now the bruise had been completely healed, but he knew Emerald understood what he meant. It wasn't the first time they met someone with a Semblance that could pierce Aura.

"So, that mean's…"

Emerald trailed off as her eyes narrowed at Goldie-who took a few steps in front of their target.

"He's a Huntsman."

A Huntsman. Emerald's words seemed to be accurate. After all, not many could unlock a Semblance without some form of training. And fewer could learn how to control it without going to some kind of school.

But…

He looked at Goldie as the man clenched his fists. He looked at the man's blue eyes—eyes that looked right into his without the slightest hesitation—and saw nothing but a cold, calculating killer.

Black eyes turned into a glare.

"Maybe."

His voice was barely higher than a mutter, but Emerald still heard as she clicked her tongue.

"Perfect. Just what we needed."

His partner let out a small sigh as she shook her head.

"The Faunus was one thing, but this just makes things…complicated."

"Speaking of, how come he isn't dead yet?"

Emerald growled.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because of some jackass having the bright idea of firing his weapon all over the place and forcing me to dodge just before I can finish Tukson off?"

Right. Admittedly, his boots weren't exactly ideal for combat in enclosed spaces like this; the fact that no one had come to check on all of the noise was a miracle. And he had been a _tad_ careless in using his boots. But like hell he was gonna admit Emerald was right.

So instead, he looked back to the Goldie—who still had yet to move. Both Goldie and their target stood side by side, and he saw Goldie's lips moving. The man was whispering something to the puma—or maybe cat—Faunus.

He couldn't make out every word Goldie was saying, But the words he did were "crawling," "back," "support," and "signal."

He raised a brow. The hell was Goldie up to?

"Any ideas on how you want to play this?"

He glanced at Emerald as she looked at him, waiting for a response. Since he had been the one to actually fight with the supposed Huntsman, even for just a short while, Emerald figured he might have come up with the best method of attack. Just like him, his partner hated fighting against people with unknown abilities. And Emerald was well aware as to just how analytical he could be in fights, so she would at the very least listen to his suggestions. Whether she'd follow them though-.

He heard something. A set of hisses.

His eyes widened.

Now that he thought about it, what had happened to the snakes?

He whipped his head to the side and saw the same snakes from before slithering around Emerald's legs. His partner's eyes widened as she immediately aimed her revolvers at the snakes and fired. Two bullets hit the snakes dead center in their head as they flew off her legs and slammed into the floor.

And he saw his partner cough blood the moment the snakes came off her-stumbling back as if she had been hit by something.

What the-!

His head whipped back to Goldie, and he saw the man rushing towards him. And he also saw Tukson with his hands behind his head.

And in the next second, the puma pulled out two pistols—the standard ones the White Fang mooks would use—from behind and began to fire.

Wha-how!?

He dove to the floor and avoided the bullets—getting into a roll the moment he hit the ground. Emerald was still stumbling so she couldn't dodge. He saw the bullets hit her and force her off her feet, his partner going over a bookshelf and crashing behind it.

And just as he finished rolling along the floor, he looked up and saw Goldie right above him—pulling back one leg before lashing out with a kick right to his face.

Acting quickly, he jumped from his spot on the ground right over Goldie's leg. He then used his momentum to flip in the air, spinning on his sides before whipping a leg towards the side of Goldie's head. Goldie was able to block his strike by quickly bringing one arm up just before his kick would have landed. His boot slammed into Goldie's arm, but the man's arm didn't even shake upon impact.

When he touched Goldie, he had become anxious. He thought that he would experience that slow sensation again. But he still attacked because he had to confirm if that was how Goldie's Semblance worked. If it did activate, then he would lose some Aura, but it would be worth it.

And considering how he could still move his body after a full four seconds of contact, he realized that Goldie's Semblance didn't work by contact with just _any_ part of his body.

His eyes darted to Goldie's white gloves.

Only this man's hands could activate his Semblance. And that made things much easier.

He landed on one leg before pulling the other one back just as Goldie made to try and touch it with his fingers. Once both of his legs were on the ground, he pivoted on his front foot and lashed out with a roundhouse kick towards Goldie's side. Goldie jumped back to dodge—just barely avoiding his kick. He was about to follow up with another kick, but he had to duck his head to the right to avoid another round of bullets.

He whipped his head and glared at Tukson—who returned the look in kind. He saw their target press on the triggers of his pistols, but no bullets came out. The Faunus was out, which meant that he didn't have to worry about-.

"Tukson, your left pocket!"

It was the first time Goldie had spoken since the fight began. And with Goldie's shout, Tukson reached one hand into his pocket—pistol still in his grasp—and pulled out two black cartridges.

What the-when did he get those!?

Just as Tukson pulled out their cartridges, from behind the counter Emerald—who had practically vanished since she had been shot—appeared as her guns shifted into their sickle form. His partner then pulled back one arm before slashing down. And as she swung her arm, the blade part of her weapon was launched forward—a long metal chain connecting the blade back to the base of Emerald's revolver.

He watched as the blade shot through the air towards their target, knocking the pistol and cartridges out of one hand. With a twist and yank from Emerald, the chain wrapped around the Faunus' wrist as the blade sunk into his skin. Blood gushed from Tukson's arm as the Faunus let out a short scream.

His head whipped to Goldie, and he saw the man glance at Tukson, expression contemplative.

And then he saw Goldie reach inside his pocket before the man hurled something towards Emerald. He saw something bright surrounding whatever object Goldie had thrown.

"Tukson, your eyes!"

As Goldie shouted—and as the object came closer and closer to Emerald—he saw that whatever it was he had thrown had a cylindrical shape. And he heard some kind of pop sound, sort of like a pin...being pulled...

His eyes widened. And he instantly brought his arms to cover his face as the flashbang slammed into Emerald's forehead with enough force to push her head back.

A moment later, there was nothing but a bright light. A bang that made his ears ring. And a scream from Emerald.

How in the hell did Goldie even fit a flashbang that big in his pocket!?

He had managed to block out most of the light, but Emerald, well, going by her screaming it was safe to say she hadn't. She wouldn't be seeing out of her eyes for a bit.

The ringing in his ears soon stopped. He brought his arms down once the lights faded and saw Goldie charging towards him, throwing a cross once the man got close enough to him.

And as Goldie throw his punch, he realized something.

The man didn't know how to fight.

Just as the cross was inches away from his face, he deflected it with his forearm—making sure to hit Goldie's wrist and not his actual hand.

Oh sure, he threw a punch alright. And his reaction time was decent enough to block oncoming attacks, but that was about it.

Goldie stumbled, and he saw his opening. He swung his leg high before Goldie could recover and his boot connected with Goldie's chin. Blood gushed from Goldie's mouth as his head shot upward.

His moves were standard, no style to them whatsoever.

As Goldie took a few steps back, he jumped into the air. He then raised his leg up high his leg before he brought it down. His boot slammed right on to the top of Goldie's head.

Goldie didn't have any training in combat.

Goldie was able to stay standing, but the strength of his kick made the man's head snap down. Landing back on his feet, he shifted his weight onto one foot before pivoting, lashing out with one leg towards Goldie's temple. The man raised his arm and was able to block his kick, the back of his boot hitting Goldie's forearm.

The man was strong.

He instantly adjusted his leg's position on Goldie's forearm—his heel now wrapped around Goldie's wrist. Before Goldie could react, he used his heel to pull the man forward. And as Goldie was jerked by his leg, he jumped into the air again before thrusting his other leg right into Goldie's chest. Goldie coughed blood from the strength of his kick.

And then—as he unhooked his heel from Goldie's wrist—he fired from the boot that was still on top of Goldie's chest.

But strength was nothing if Goldie couldn't even hit his opponent.

He watched as another white ball sent Goldie careening back. He used the force from the blast to flip back as he grinned. The compressed ball continued to carry Goldie for a few more feet before exploding in a small burst of smoke. He landed on two feet and watch as Goldie's body was sent tumbling on the ground before he crashed into a large pile of discarded books, disappearing from sight.

"That was for earlier, Goldie!"

His shout was enough to draw the attention of Tukson—who in the time of his short confrontation with Goldie, had grabbed the cartridges and pistol that had been knocked out of his hand and reloaded. The puma's eyes widen before shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Giorno!"

Tukson quickly rose his pistols and began to fire at him again. He acted quickly and bent his body back as far as it could before handspringing away. Every time he pushed off the ground with his hands, he could feel the bullets _just_ missing him, and during one of his flips, he aimed his boots right at Tukson before firing. Two balls of compressed Dust rocketed towards the Fauns, who quickly hit the ground as the blast collided with another shelf of books.

Just as he pushed off the ground one last time before landing upright, Tukson picked himself off the floor and raised his pistols. But the puma didn't get the chance to fire as his head turned to the left before his eyes widened. Tukson dove to the floor and avoided the sickle that would have sliced his neck.

He turned and saw the chain on the sickle retreating back to Emerald; a loud snap echoing through the store as the blade connected back to her weapon. His partner eyes were redder than usual, and every other second, they squinted as she rubbed them with one hand.

"You good, Emerald?"

Emerald glared at him—well, she tried to, anyway—as she took several steps forward, position herself close to their target.

"Oh, I'm absolutely _fine_. Why wouldn't I be after getting hit by that monster of a flash grenade?"

The sarcasm in Emerald voice rose with every word. But before he could respond, he had to twist his torso to avoid another round of bullets from Tukson.

"Hey, rude! Can't you see I'm having a conversation!?"

The puma snarled, anger rising within his eyes.

"Go to hell!"

"Oh come on, you do better than-!"

He didn't finish as he heard another hiss. Or, more accurately, an _uproar_ of _hisses_.

He looked down and saw _dozens_ of snakes slithering on the floor. Some were even beginning to climb up his leg as his eyes widened.

Where in the hell did these things even come from!? Did Goldie just have his pet snakes hide in the floor or some shit!?

He quickly jumped away from the pile of snakes before whirling on his sides—the snakes on his legs flying off. And while he was still in the air, he swung his leg out as his boot fired another white ball. He saw the Dust round hit the mass of snakes right in their center, the hisses quickly dying as smoke erupted from the floor.

And then he felt something slam into his back with enough force to make him cough blood.

What the-!?

Whatever hit him had enough power to make him hit the ground face first with a loud smack, head ringing as his back screamed with pain. He had been positive that Goldie hadn't moved from his spot under the books—he would have seen Goldie if the man had. So then when, no, how did he-!?

His thoughts were interrupted as heard footsteps approaching.

"Tukson, take care of the green one!"

When he heard that shout, he quickly got up. And he saw Goldie only a few feet away from him, fist raised next to his head.

Shit!

Goldie threw his punch, but he was able to avoid it by rolling away. The only thing Goldie's fist hit was the wood of the floor—the ground cracking as splinters shot into the air. He pushed off the ground and got to his feet as he shifted his weight onto his back leg. He then lashed out a high kick with his front leg, but Goldie moved his head to the right just as his foot would've hit the man's chin.

And as Goldie dodged, he saw the man reach into his pocket before flicking something at him with his thumb. This time, the object wasn't a Flashbang

No, this time, it was just a regular grenade.

His eyes widen—for a moment, he thought he saw something yellow around the grenade. But the glow was almost instantly replaced by a bright red light and the sound of another pin being removed.

And then there was nothing but fire. His Aura might protect him from getting burned, but it sure as hell didn't stop him from feeling scorching flames consuming his body. Nor did it block the force of the sudden explosion—his body careening backward through the air until he hit the wall at the front of the store.

He let out a shout as his body slumped back to the floor; the small explosion caused parts of the ground and even ceiling to burst into flames. He shakily got back up to his feet...

And from within the smoke and fire from the explosion, Goldie jumped out—arms crossed in front of him to protect himself from the fire. Goldie somehow hadn't been pushed back from the explosion—hell his clothes didn't even look that burned—and as Goldie landed right in front of him, the man pulled back his arms.

And he found himself looking into empty blue eyes that glared right through him.

He couldn't react in time to block or dodge the punch Goldie threw. And the moment he felt Goldie's fist touch his stomach, everything slowed down.

…This was gonna suck.

He felt his limbs lock up. He saw Goldie's fist slowly moving deeper and deeper into his gut. He felt his body screaming in agony with every slow, warped second that past.

And then—when everything began to move at a normal speed—Goldie followed through with his punch and he was sent flying back into the wall. Blood gushed from his mouth as he heard cracks forming on the wall before he hit the ground again. His stomach felt like it had just been impaled as he tried to push off the ground.

But just as he lifted his head, a stomp on the back of his head sent him right back to the floor. The wood split on impact as another wave of pain consumed his head.

The shoe on his head came off a second later, and he quickly glanced up to see Goldie pulling his fist back. But the man never got a chance to throw it.

Because from behind Goldie, a long chain wrapped around the man's neck. Goldie let out a gasp as he instantly brought his hands up to the chain—pulling at it with both hands as he took several steps back.

His eyes looked to Emerald, who was pulling with all her might—visibly struggling.

And then they looked to the bleeding form of Tukson. The Faunus was sprawled on the ground as blood leaked from a hole in his sides. Tukson was still breathing—he could see the Faunus tremble on the ground as his body shook—but he was definitely out of the fight.

Now, all they had to deal with was Goldie.

And while the man was busy trying not to get strangled, he moved. He got up—ignoring the pain his body was in—and ran towards Goldie. Once he got close, he shifted onto his left foot and pivoted, swinging the back of his right leg towards Blondie's face.

But just as his leg would have hit Goldie, the man had stopped pulling on his chain. The second he stopped struggling against Emerald's pull, Goldie's body was yanked back by the chain; the man just dodging his kick. Emerald hadn't been expecting Goldie to stop fighting, so she had used far too much force and had stumbled back a few feet.

And as she stumbled, Goldie planted his feet firmly on the ground, gripped the part of the chain that floated behind him with both hands, and then the man glared at him.

His eyes widened as he realized what Goldie was up to.

And a second later, Goldie spun on the spot, pulling on the chain with all his might.

And Emerald let out a frightened yelp as she was yanked off her feet and sent flying. Goldie finished spinning as he swung the chain towards him. Emerald suddenly changed path—body once again jerking in mid-air—as she was sent on a collision path to him.

He acted quickly and crouched to the floor, Emerald sailing over his head as she screamed. She continued to fly for a few more seconds before she hit the ground—tumbling on the wooden floor before she crashed into a still standing bookcase. The bookcase began to wobble from the sudden crash, and after teetering on its legs, it fell right on top of Emerald with a loud crash.

He looked away from his partner and slowly got up from his crouched position. He stared at Goldie, who had moved at some point and was now kneeling a few feet away from Tukson's body; the man's blue eyes staring at the leaking hole in the Faunus' side. Goldie had also grabbed Emerald weapon at some point before he pressed a button near the trigger. The chain immediately started moving back to the gun, the retracting mechanism whirling until the sickle was rested back at the tip of Emerald's gun.

"You know, I'm not gonna lie…"

As he spoke, Goldie turned to look at him, expression still emotionless as the man didn't respond.

"That was actually kinda funny."

He smiled. Kinda was an understatement. It had been a while since he saw his partner make such a stupid face.

From behind him, he heard something crashing onto the ground. Turning, he saw Emerald rising from the floor as she kicked at some of the books at her feet.

"Screw you, Mercury."

She glared at him, and his smile grew as she got closer.

"Are you offering or-."

The glare became even more fierce, and he chose not to finish.

He turned back to face Goldie, who stood up and looked at the weapon in his hand. A glance to his right and he saw Emerald visibly gritting her teeth, hands tightening into fists. She hated anyone touching her weapons—whether him or even Cinder, though she would never admit that to the latter. And the fact that it was her own fault that she lost her weapon only stung even more.

Goldie stared at Emerald with his cold eyes, not even blinking as Emerald glared at him. And then, he threw Emerald's gun underhand right back to her. He saw his partner blinked before she quickly caught her gun with one hand, and then she looked back at Goldie with narrowed eyes.

"Didn't think you'd be so generous, Goldie."

He smirked at Goldie. Goldie didn't look like he was going to respond to his words, but a moment later the man spoke.

"Such a shitty weapon would be useless to me. Your friend is free to use that piece of garbage as she pleases."

Anger returned to Emerald's face as she snarled. His partner took a few steps forwards, intent on making Goldie regret those words, but she stopped herself. She slowly extinguished the anger in her expression as her eyes became cold.

Emerald was a lot of things, but an amateur wasn't one of them. She wouldn't let insults make her do something stupid.

"Why are you fighting us?"

There was confusion Emerald's voice. She raised a brow as Goldie stared at her with emotionless eyes.

"You're trying to kill me. Why wouldn't I fight back?"

He glanced at Emerald, wondering where she was going with this. She continued to stare at Goldie before her lips moved into a grin.

"Well actually, we're not trying to kill _you._ "

She pointed a finger to Tukson—who no longer seemed to be conscious as he lied on his sides.

"We're just trying to kill him. You're not our target, just him."

Oh, so _that_ was what Emerald was up to.

Goldie said nothing as he continued to look at his partner.

"Do you know who we are?"

Emerald pointed a finger at herself and then to him.

"No."

With that one word from Goldie, Emerald's smile grew.

"Than that's perfect."

She took a step forward as she looked at Tukson's body.

"We don't want to fight you. And it's clear you don't want to fight us. The only reason you're in this mess is because of him."

Emerald's voice was almost cordial.

"Want to know why we're here in the first place? Well, Tukson over there used to be a part of the White Fang and well, let's just say that he's upset a lot of people after everything he's done."

Goldie glanced at Tukson.

"And I take it you're one of those people?"

"Well, more like we're taking a special request from the actual people he's stabbed in the back. The person we…work for has a rather deep interest in the White Fang and wanted us to handle this."

Goldie didn't respond, still staring at Tukson. And Emerald kept talking.

"Ask yourself this. Do you really want to fight for someone like that? Do you really want to be in this mess just because of what this criminal did?"

Emerald pointed behind her towards the entrance door.

"Just leave. Who cares what happens to this guy. He's a terrorist. He deserves what's coming to him. No one's gonna miss him if he dies here."

He heard Goldie sigh, but Emerald didn't seem to hear it as she continued.

"If you're a Huntsman, then you should just do the right thing and-"

"I don't know what's more asinine. You or the blatant bullshit that's coming out of your mouth."

Emerald immediately stopped talking. Goldie was now glaring at the both of them.

"If you truly believe that I'll fall for such cheap words, then the fact that you even know how to breathe is an absolute miracle."

Goldie's eyes held nothing but cruelty. Every word the man spoke was cold, matching the frigid expression he had on.

"We both know how this ends."

The frost in Goldie's words kept growing. And it only made his eyes—eyes that were so _empty—_ look all the more threatening.

"With either myself or you two dying."

The finality in his voice—just as frigid as the rest of Goldie—promised both him and Emerald one simple thing.

They would die horribly if they didn't take this seriously.

"So…what the hell are you two idiots waiting for?"

Goldie took a few steps forward, and then stopped as he tensed-readying his body for any upcoming attacks.

He glanced at Emerald. He saw that her smile was long gone and her eyes were back in a glare. Her fingers tightened around her weapons as she sighed.

"Well, you're smarter than my partner, I'll give you that."

She got into her stance—weapons held at her sides—and her eyes were full of barely restrained anger.

"But clearly, you're not smart enough to realize you're already a dead man walking.

She scowled at Goldie, who in response said nothing and instead continued to glare at her. And he knew just how badly Emerald wanted to wipe the floor with Goldie.

But... this fight had become complicated.

"Emerald."

Emerald turned her head slightly to look at him, confusion within her expression. And then, he spoke three words.

"Ashes to Ashes?"

He tilted his head to the side. And she blinked.

It would be a horrible idea to prolong this fight. He had been hit only three times by Goldie—and had gotten blasted by one explosion—and he felt like almost half his Aura was gone. Emerald was probably doing much better than him since she hadn't even once been hit by Goldie's fist, but she had still taken damage.

And while he hated to admit it, against Goldie that might be all it would take for him to actually win. The man was cunning, his Semblance was ridiculously strong, and it was obvious he had some experience when it came to fights like these. Where the winner could be decided just because someone made a single mistake. And several times already Goldie had proven that point. The man had been able to land devastating blows by using tricks like his pet animals—he still didn't know how exactly, but that was for later—and using damn grenades at just the right moments.

Goldie was dangerous. And it was best to end this fight as quickly as possible.

He watched as Emerald turned to face Goldie. And he did the same.

And he saw a cold-blooded killer waiting for them.

Emerald's expression became contemplative. And a moment later she closed her eyes, sighing.

"You really-?"

"Yep."

"Nothing else will do?"

"Nope."

Another sigh.

And then she opened her eyes. Her red pupils were now ruthless and positively frightening. Within her eyes, he could see every murder, every assassination and every cruel deed Emerald had ever committed. His partner had stopped trying to hide her self—her real, heartless, self—and now the only thing Goldie was glaring at was a resolved assassin.

"Fine. Ashes to Ashes."

He grinned.

"Great."

And then they moved. He swung out with his right leg and fired a white ball from his sole. And the moment he fired, Emerald ran towards Goldie. The man ducked underneath the ball as it went over his head and crashed into the wall behind him. Goldie quickly reached into his pocket and threw his arm forward. Another grenade was hurled through the air.

And it missed Emerald by a mile. Goldie's throw had been so off it had hit the spot about fifteen feet from the left of Emerald.

He saw Goldie blink, eyes widening as his head whipped to the side.

Just in time to see Emerald elbow him in the gut. He saw Goldie almost double over as Emerald stepped back and pivoted on her right foot before slashing high with her sickle. Goldie recovered quickly and brought his right arm up to his face to block.

Except Emerald hadn't been aiming anywhere near Goldie's face. Instead, her blade plunged into Goldie's left forearm—the sickle piercing his clothing and skin as blood erupted into the air. Goldie let out a shout before he threw a punch at Emerald, which she dodged with a slight twist of her head. She made sure not to let go her sickle, yanking Goldie forward as the man let out a grunt.

Since Goldie was actually bleeding, that meant one of two things. Either Goldie was out of Aura or the man just hadn't properly channeled it to protect him. Whichever one it was, he couldn't tell. But all that mattered was that Emerald now had Goldie trapped.

He rushed forward while Goldie tried to grab Emerald's hand—the one without the sickle—with his own, but Emerald simply jerked her sickle down and Goldie stumbled a few steps forward. She immediately moved into his guard again and kneed him in his crouch, Goldie's breath leaving him as the man's knees shook.

And once he was close enough to Goldie, he lashed out with a kick at Goldie's side. His boot slammed into the man's hip as he coughed blood. Goldie's eyes widened in shock, like he hadn't even seen the attack coming.

He quickly pulled his leg back from Goldie's hip and jumped from his spot, kicking forward with both legs. The soles of his boots connected with Goldie's head—Emerald removing her sickle from Goldie just as he was sent flying. And Goldie looked completely surprised by what was happening to him.

He smirked.

As Goldie was sent flying, Emerald pulled back her sickle, swung it to the side, and midswing a blade and chain were launched through the air towards Goldie. The chain quickly caught up to Goldie as it wrapped around the man's waist, and once it completely surrounded him, Emerald yanked down. And Goldie was slammed hard onto the floor with a painful shout.

When Goldie hit the floor, he was already charging at the man. He saw Goldie struggling to get up from the ground—Emerald pulling with all her strength to keep him down wasn't helping the man—and just as Goldie got back onto his feet, he lashed out with his right leg midrun and fired his weapon. Another white blast headed right towards Goldie.

And the man didn't even bother looking at the explosive round, instead, Goldie glared at him as he got closer. And when the ball of Dust hit him in the chest, Goldie's eyes went wide. Once again, he seemed shocked that he had been hit.

Ashes to Ashes—which Emerald had named—was an assault plan they had developed after their first year of working together. The essence of the plan was Emerald pushing her Semblance to the maximum.

A small explosion erupted on Goldie, the man falling back but the chain became taut before he could continue to fall.

Being able to cast illusions on a person just by staring at them was already very useful, but when used right her ability entered a whole new league.

When he got close, he swung his foot low towards the back of Goldie's knee. His boot hit its mark and Goldie let out a shout as he fell onto one knee—and when he did, the chain surrounding him began to unwrap as it whirled back to Emerald. He then pivoted on his right foot and whipped a roundhouse kick towards the back of Goldie's head. All while the man didn't even seem to see him as Goldie stared forward.

And so long as Emerald kept looking at a person, she could create as many illusions as she wanted.

When his boot made contact, Goldie was sent crashing to the ground, head rebounding off the wooden floor as blood gushed from his nose. Goldie reacted quickly, stopping himself from falling back to the ground as the man threw a punch to the side. But it was sloppy and he was easily able to dodge it by taking a quick step to the right. And before Goldie could get a chance to pull his arm back, he wrapped his hand around the back of the man's elbow. He then twisted the arm up, placed his other hand under Goldie's wrist before pushing down on the man's elbow. Goldie's arm was then forcibly extended and locked in place, fingers unable to touch anything.

Instantly, she could make it look as though a Beowulf had suddenly just appeared from nowhere. Or that the ground had suddenly caught fire.

Emerald was running towards them, and as she did Goldie once again reached for his pocket with his free arm. But before the man's hands got anywhere near his pocket, he swung his leg and his foot slammed into Goldie's ches—he made sure his hands didn't loosen their grip on Goldie's arm. Goldie heaved as he quickly followed up with a high kick, his boot driving into the underside of man's chin. Blood gushed from Goldie's mouth as he let go of Goldie's arm before grabbing the man's lapel and pulling him up to his feet.

But sometimes, it was better to go simple than over-the-top.

Just as Goldie stood, he pivoted and slammed a foot into the man's back before he could gain his bearings. Goldie was sent stumbling forward from his kick. Straight towards Emerald as his partner swung both sickles down in an x-shaped path. And Goldie's only response was to turn his head to the right.

Such as say, creating an illusion that made it look like a punch was coming from the right when in reality, it was an attack from two sickles.

Goldie screamed as the two sickles sliced his face, blood erupting into the air as his hands shot up to cover his face—and he could almost see the deep gashes from Emerald's strike. His partner immediately followed up by raising her left leg and kicking forward, driving a heel right into Goldie's stomach with enough force to send him flying back. Towards him.

Or perhaps hiding a white ball of dust from a person's vision until it slammed right into their body.

Once Goldie got close enough, he stopped running and shifted all of his weight onto his back leg before swigging high with his front leg, his boot slamming into Goldie's neck. There was a cracking sound, and then he fired from his boot.

And, if a person didn't know where an attack was coming from, they couldn't properly block it with their Aura. They would immediately try to mitigate the damage, but the blow would have done its damage and thus cause even more loss of Aura while trying to heal themselves.

An explosion erupted on Goldie's neck as the man was sent high into the air—and he pulled his leg back to the ground once his shot hit. He looked back to his partner, and she nodded her head. Smirking, he jumped from the ground and fired his boots. The force from his shots propelled him into the air, and within seconds he found himself right above Goldie at the apex of the man's ascent. He then pulled his leg back as far as he could before he spun and drove his boot right into the man's abdomen.

And so far, whenever they used this plan, someone always ended up dead.

The force of his kick sent the man hurling back to the ground, but as Goldie rocketed down, Emerald's sickles and chains wrapped around his waist. He glanced down and saw Emerald pulling her weapons with all her strength, jerking Goldie from his flight. She then swung down with a shout, adding even more momentum to Goldie's fall just as the man crashed through several rows of still standing bookshelves.

His smirk grew as he landed back on the ground. He looked up at the destroyed bookshelves—and the dust that had erupted into the air—and he let out a chuckle. He turned his head to the right and saw Emerald approaching him, eyes closed and both hands massaging her temples. She had tucked her weapons away back into her holsters.

He slowly raised a hand towards her as she got closer.

"High fiv-?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Emerald's shouts interrupted him as she began to hiss in pain. She continued to massage her temples as she grit her teeth.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to make illusion after illusion?! Damn it, I'm going to have migraines for weeks!"

Ah yes, the one drawback of Ashes to Ashes. His partner would get the worse headaches known to man—or so she claimed—and would get _very_ snippy.

Even though she couldn't see it, he gave her a wide grin.

"Oh, come on, it can't be _that_ bad."

Emerald's eyes snapped open as she glared at him, anger rising in her expression as she took a step forward.

"Mercury, so help me, if you don't shut up right now, Cinder will never find your damn-!"

She didn't finish. Because they both heard a noise coming from where Goldie crashed. Both of them turned their heads towards the large pileup of books and broken wood. His eyes narrowed as he waited, and he saw Emerald do the same—hands instantly going to her holsters as she tensed.

A moment passed, nothing happened. And he grinned again.

Yeah, Goldie was either dead or unable to fight. There was no way he was getting up anytime soon from those blows. All that was left was to go make sure they did their job and-.

There was another noise. This one was different, but at the same time, it sounded familiar to him.

He saw the pile of books and broken planks shaking.

It almost sounded like…buzz-.

From within the books, a _swarm_ of hornets ejected from within the pile. _Hundreds_ of yellow and black insects flew through the air.

Right towards Emerald.

His partner's eyes widened just before the swarm reached her. The hornets completely covered her face; he could see nothing but a cloud of yellow and black. He could almost hear the insects stinging his partner's face as Emerald screamed in pain. Her hands went for her sickles as she brought them up and wildly swung them around. He saw her slicing away at the cloud of insects, several hornets hitting the ground.

And then he saw blood erupt from within the swarm of insects as Emerald's screams became even worse. She fell to her knees—weapons dropping to the floor.

His eyes widened at what he saw. What the hell was going on? Sure, if the hornets repeatedly stung the same place they might actually end up hurting Emerald, but there shouldn't be any chance for so much blood to burst just from normal bees. That was-.

"Mercury! Shoot these things!"

He blinked, Emerald's words instantly brought him out of his thoughts.

And not even a second later, he lashed out with his right leg before instantly following up with his left. And with those two kicks, two white balls shot from his boots and flew right towards the hornets attacking Emerald. And the moment they hit their marks, the insects exploded into smoke as his partner was sent tumbling along the floor from the blast.

And not even a second later, he felt _something_ slam into his gut. Something with the force of an explosion. Something that made him cough blood as he felt all of the air leave his body.

Something that sent him flying backward. His back collided against the counter where this fight had started as he rebounded off it and hit the ground.

Okay…what the hell was-!?

"You know…"

His entire body became tense when he heard that voice. Footsteps began to echo in the quiet store.

"I will give you both this, your teamwork was splendid."

You have got to be kidding me.

"Placing me under rapid fire illusions while attacking me before I even had the chance to realize what was happening is an incredibly cunning strategy."

With a groan, he lifted his head up.

And he saw Goldie slowly walking towards the front windows with a book in his hand; his expression still emotionless, but now there seemed to be a touch of _boredom_ in his eyes. Goldie turned the book to the next page, locked onto whatever text he was reading. Goldie wasn't even bothering to look at either him or Emerald—reading his books like there weren't two people trying to kill him.

"I'm fairly certain that you broke my neck in the process. Truly, that speaks volumes as to just how effective you two are. You must have been doing things like this for a very long time."

There wasn't a scratch on Goldie. No bruises, no deep gashes, not a single speck of blood anywhere on his person. Every possible injury he could have gotten from his and Emerald's assault was…healed. Instantly.

Just how massive were this man's reserves?

"But, I suppose you two just weren't good enough to finish me."

Goldie turned another page.

"Though, I must thank you two. When I was underneath those books, I found a new novel to read later on. _The Man With Two Souls_ should be quite the interesting read."

Goldie closed the book in his hands and gently placed it on the ground.

"However, I'd like to wrap this all up now. I have other things to do, after all."

The emotionless voice Goldie spoke in suddenly grew cold. The empty expression Goldie wore told him just what the man had planned for him and Emerald.

But if Goldie thought he could intimidate him, the man had another thing coming.

He slowly stood up, mouth moving into a snarl.

Because there was _no way_ he was going to lose to this arrogant prick. _No way_ was he going to get his ass kicked by someone who read a damn book in the middle of the battle. Someone who didn't even take him seriously even though he had literally just kicked him into the ground. Someone who had the balls to look _bored_ when he should be terrified.

There was no way he was gonna let this damn prick mock him.

He slowly got into his stance. Turning his head to the left, he saw Emerald shakily rising from the corner of the room—she had been knocked back quite a bit by his blast. There was a visible cut running down the side of her forehead, but it was quickly being stitched up by her Aura. Her eyes were glaring at Goldie as she got into her own stance.

Goldie looked between him and Emerald, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh? Still want to fight even though you're both approaching your limits?"

He growled. He hated to admit it, but Goldie's words reminded him just how bad his situation was. He had already used a majority of his Dust shots and would soon run out—he hadn't thought to bring that much ammo with him for such a simple mission. And his Aura by now would only last a few more hits against Goldie's punches at best.

Looking to Emerald, he could tell that while she probably had more Aura than him, he doubted that she could use her Semblance as often as before. The strain of putting up so many illusions in such a short time would make her head throb, she hadn't been kidding about the migraines.

That wasn't even getting into how Goldie kept doing such weird shit throughout the fight—having his pet insects and reptiles strike from seemingly nowhere—which he still had no idea how the man pulled off. And Goldie had recovered almost instantly from blows that would have killed other people.

The situation was bad. He was already starting to feel the effects from Goldie's earlier attacks, the ache that had surrounded his body growing by the second. If they didn't find a way to end this soon, Goldie might just win.

"Then allow me to make this easier for you."

Looking back at Goldie, he saw the man slowly spreading his arms wide.

"I will not move from this spot. I will not try to counter your next attack in any way, shape or form."

…What?

"You're free to take as long as you need to plan your assault."

Goldie slowly glanced from him to Emerald—whose expression had become incredulous. Because Goldie wasn't tense in the slightest. He wasn't putting up any type of guard. There was nothing within his posture but damn _nonchalance._ Goldie was leaving himself open in every sense of the word.

Goldie was treating them like they couldn't hurt him. Like they were _nothing._

…This son of a bitch...

"Just know, that you only have one attack. After that, well, I'll fight back again."

His hands were clenched into fists.

This…god damn…!

"So, I would suggest you two take advantage of my offer and try and finish me before-."

"You, arrogant bastard!"

He was shouting—voice full of anger as he sent Goldie a fierce glare. Because he sure as hell wasn't gonna take this _bullshit_ lying down!

"Do you really think that we _can't_ kill you!? We're damn killers and you think you can get away with treating us like we aren't a threat!? Like we're jokes!?"

Once again, he thought of his Dad. Of the long days and nights he would train him. Of how he would constantly get beat into the ground by a drunk old bastard who never took him seriously. Who never viewed him as anything more but a damn tool. He wasn't even a person to his Dad. To that bastard, he was _nothing_.

He was snarling. Never again would he be looked down like that.

"We're professionals, so don't you dare think you're actually somehow better than us!"

Throughout his shouting, Goldie expression remained emotionless and he did not say a word. The man's empty blue eyes stared at him, unblinking and showing nothing.

And then, the man's lips suddenly moved into a grin. And Goldie let out short, derisive laugh.

"Killers? _Professionals?_ Please."

Goldie's grin became a smirk.

"You two are nothing more than God. Damn. Worms."

He had seen that smirk so many time before. That mocking, arrogant smirk that told him just how little he mattered to whoever wore it. The condescending look that he had been given so many times before instantly made his anger so much worse.

And it was that smirk that made him promise he would beat the ever-loving shit of Goldie.

"Emerald!"

With that scream—and there was nothing but fire within it—Emerald got up. She was almost as pissed off as he was and the moment she stood, she glared at Goldie. And he did not have to ask if Goldie was under her Semblance again.

Goldie still had on that damn smirk as he continued to hold his arms wide.

"I'm waiting."

As soon as Goldie spook, he snarled.

"Go to hell!"

He charged towards this arrogant bastard. Emerald did the same from her spot in the corner, quickly closing the distance as she held her sickles be her side. In seconds, they were both only a few feet away from Goldie, flanking the man from both sides.

It didn't matter whether Goldie was a killer or a Huntsman. It didn't matter how many tricks this bastard had up his sleeve. It didn't matter if he had a seemingly stupid amount of Aura.

Because no one-!

Once they were close enough, he lashed out with a leg towards Goldie's stomach while one of Emerald's sickles slashed towards Goldie's back.

-Got to treat him like he was nothing!

Both of their attacks connected at the same time. And the moment he felt his leg make contact with Goldie's stomach, his eyes widened.

Because Goldie hadn't even flinched when his kick hit him, instead the man stood perfectly still—like he didn't feel _anything._ Hell, Goldie didn't even seem to feel the god damn sickle stabbing right him in the bac-.

It was only now that he realized _why_ Goldie hadn't reacted to the slightest to his kick. In less than a second, he had realized something was _missing_ from his kick that should not have been possible.

The force.

He had put all of his strength into his kick. He had not held back on anything and wanted to watch Goldie spit blood. But all of the strength—all of the power and speed he had placed into his kick was…gone.

The strength had just…disappeared. But…how-.

A second after he hit Goldie—or, maybe it was less than a second—he heard something.

The sound of metal being _crushed._

And then he felt _something_ slam into the back of the leg he swung at Goldie. He _felt_ something with enough force to send him off his balanced foot and into the air— flipping uncontrollably as he did so.

Felt. Not saw. Because even though it happened in—at most—a second…he knew that Goldie hadn't moved at all. Goldie had stayed perfectly still—he hadn't used a weapon or his pets or anything like that.

Yet _something_ had slammed into his leg with enough power to make him backflip through the air. And just before he was launched off his feet, he had seen Emerald drop her sickle as a large gash appeared on her left hip.

He heard his partner scream just before he stopped flipping and crashed onto the wooden floor, tumbling on the ground. The moment he gained control of his body, he pushed off the ground—ignoring the pain _screaming_ from his leg—and landed on his feet.

For about a second.

Because the moment he landed, he once again heard the sound of metal screeching as he let out a shout. He fell onto one knee as he glanced at the source of his pain.

His left leg—now lying on the floor—had bright blue sparks coming out of near the ankle. He could see the inner circuits of his mechanical leg sticking out from a hole in his pants; a static like noise erupting every other second.

Shit! There was no way his Aura could fix this!

"Oh?"

Hearing that damn voice made him gnash his teeth as he turned his head. He saw Goldie staring down at him. His smirk was long gone and his expression had become emotionless again. The look in Goldie's eyes was cold.

"I thought something felt off about you."

Goldie rose a brow as he stared at him for a few more moments before turning around. He then looked towards Emerald-who was on the floor now as she covered the large wound on her side with one hand and glared at Goldie.

"But I'll get to _that_ in a moment."

He took a step towards Emerald, causally kicking her weapon out her reach as he did so. Emerald quickly scrambled back to her feet, taking a few steps back before reaching for her holster. She then quickly brought up her arm…

And within her hand, there was a long, white, flower—a Lilly, if he had to guess. Instead of her other sickle—which he _thought_ she had gone for—she had pulled out a flower. He saw Emerald's eyes were wide as she stared. She was just as shocked at the flower in her hand as he was—like she hadn't meant to reach for it.

Where did she even get that flower from?

"What the fu-!?"

Emerald never finished. Before she had the chance to pull her arm back, Goldie grabbed her wrist and pulled. His partner stumbled forward, and Goldie quickly grabbed Emerald's neck with his other hand.

And then he picked her up like she weighed nothing before slamming her onto the ground. He heard the floor _crack_ on impact, but Emerald did not scream. She didn't even react as Goldie pinned her arms with his knees. She didn't struggle or try to fight back in the slightest as Goldie pulled his other arm back—keeping one hand tightly wrapped around Emerald's throat.

And when Goldie punched Emerald in the face—hard enough for another cracking sound to echo through the store—she simply stayed perfectly still. Like she was frozen.

Emerald was under Goldie's Semblance. Of that, he was positive.

He grit his teeth as he attempted to stand up again. Goldie punched Emerald in the face again; this time he saw blood gush from her nose. He was about halfway up as Goldie threw another punch and he once again heard another cracking sound as Emerald's blood erupted into the air.

And it was at that point that his legs sparked and he screamed, falling back down to the ground.

"Please wait your turn. I'll be with you in a moment."

He looked up and saw Goldie with the same blank expression, spots of Emerald's blood now coating his face. The man's voice was cold—holding no emotions at all—as he looked at Emerald with an almost procedural look in his eyes. Like he had done this so many times before it was almost routine.

He had to get up before his partner became a corpse. Otherwise, he'd have to explain to his boss what happened to one of her most loyal subordinates.

No thanks.

Goldie once again punched Emerald, and he saw cracks emerging on the floor. This time, he carefully stood up in a way that put as little pressure on his left leg as possible. He could see Goldie's punches getting faster as he repeatedly slammed his fist into Emerald's face. Goldie's glove was dripping with blood by the time he finally got back onto his feet—almost all of his weight was now placed on his uninjured leg.

He was about to swing his leg at Goldie, about to shoot another Dust bullet right at his head…but he suddenly felt something. A sensation that he had felt some many times before. And every time he felt it, his entire body would become cold.

"If you're in that big of a rush to die…."

He had experience with situations going from bad to worse. Thinking he killed his Dad only to realize that the bastard was still breathing before his Dad stabbed him in the leg. Fighting against the old Fall Maiden and seeing her summon lighting from the skies. And in all those situations, they shared one moment. One _feeling_ that would always be followed by dread as he broke out in cold sweat. An _instinct_ that screamed from within and tried to warn him how horribly he messed up.

"I suppose I can oblige."

And the cold expression Goldie had on as he turned around—along with the malice that seemed to make up every inch of the man's voice—told him one thing.

He had entered yet _another_ hopeless situation. Only this time-.

Goldie snapped his fingers, even with his gloves on.

-There was a very large chance he wouldn't live to see it through.

He felt something on his legs. And then they suddenly felt numb. He looked down…

And all of sudden, from within his pants, _vines_ burst out. He saw the vines coming out from seemingly every part of his pants legs—making large holes as they did so—as they could somehow move, plunging towards the ground. The vines pierced the wooden floor with ease as the upper portions disappeared from view; lower half still visible and still impossible to miss.

He stared at what had just emerged from within his clothing with an open mouth.

"…What?!"

There was no way he could keep the shock and _immense_ confusion out of his voice. His eyes were wide as he tried to figure out what the hell he just saw.

But then he heard a cracking sound.

He looked back to Goldie and saw the man slowly standing up. He then looked towards Emerald. There was a large pool of blood underneath his partner's head. Her face was turned to the side, so he could only see her cheek and the massive bruise she had on.

"I'm sure you're confused…"

He turned his head towards Goldie and saw the man approaching him. He was shaking his left arm, and from within his sleeve, dead pieces of…Leaves? Or, some kind of dead plant left his sleeve and hit the ground.

He shook his head—killing the confusion within him as quickly as possible—before he moved.

Or, he tried to. Because when he tried moving, he couldn't even feel his legs anymore. He couldn't feel _anything_ on the lower half of his body. Before, his legs had just felt numb, but now it was like he didn't even _have_ any legs.

He looked at the vines that had surfaced from within his pants. He then slowly moved his hands toward one of the holes that the vines had made. His fingers gripped the torn fabric, and then he pulled.

And his eyes widened. For a second, his heart stopped beating.

Because when he ripped open the side of his pants, he didn't see any metal. He didn't see the familiar pistons or prosthetics he had gained so long ago. Instead, there were only vines. Everything below his thigh that had once been reinforced steel was now a structure made entirely of dark green vines; vaguely in the shape of what his prosthetics had once looked like.

...No, seriously, what!? What the hell-!?

"I'm sure you're wondering just what happened to your legs..."

He didn't look up as he heard Goldie's footsteps getting closer. Instead, he frantically tried to think of some way to get out of this mess right now!

"Wondering how you can get out of the grave you dug for yourself…"

He grit his teeth.

"Shut up! Just shut the hell-!"

"Your head is probably filled with so many questions that it's making you nauseous. And, while I can answer them with ease..."

Come on! There had to be some way out of this! Anything! If he didn't, the Goldie would mess him with those confusing-as-shit powers!

But he couldn't think of anything.

Because there was no escape.

The footsteps stopped—he could feel Goldie glaring at him.

"I would find it rather pointless to explain my abilities to a corpse. Wouldn't you agree?"

He looked up to glare at Goldie. He was going to shout at Goldie, curse at him, call him every insult he knew.

But any words died once he actually saw Goldie. He blinked. And then he blinked again. He wondered if the blows to his head were making him see things. And then he realized that, no, he wasn't hallucinating.

And once he realized that what he was actually seeing was real, the confusion and disbelief within him were killed by immense outrage.

Why?

Because this bastard was _fucking posing!_

One arm was draped on Goldie's head—hand hanging off his head and swaying slightly—as his other arm wrapped around his waist. His left foot was in front of his right as Goldie placed most of his weight on the balls of his left foot, knee bent slightly.

He could feel the anger twisting his expression. The hatred within him that now filled his eyes as he gave Goldie the most vicious glare he had ever given anyone.

Because it was one thing to insult him. To punch him, to _cripple_ him…

But it was another thing—a huge, demeaning humiliation—to have someone strike a _fucking_ pose like some rejected fashion model in the middle of a battle!

" _You_ motherfucking piece of-!"

He didn't get the chance to finish his roar. Because Goldie had broken out of his pose and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Now, now, no need to shout."

Goldie's face was only inches away from his.

"It's rather unseemly for someone to curse after being defeated."

He let out a snarl as he threw a hook at Goldie's cheek. The man took a casual step back and he avoided his punch with ease.

Goldie rolled his eyes.

"You know, some men would say it's admirable to continue fighting even though you know you have already lost."

Before he had a chance to react, Goldie was only a few inches away from his face again.

And his eyes were cold. The only thing he could see in the man's pupils was malice—and it seemed to grow with every second.

"I am not one of those men."

Goldie placed a fist inches away from his chin.

His eyes widened.

"Now, hold still please."

Goldie's fist touched his chin.

 **"This will only take a second."**

And with Goldie's quiet voice, he felt the world slow down. His body—the parts he should be able to move anyway—were locked in place. His eyes flickered everywhere as he was unable to move any other part of himself no matter how hard he tried.

But his eyes quickly settled on Goldie as the man take a painstakingly slow step back. To his eyes, Goldie was moving as slowly as humanly possible as he raised his fists.

Goldie then cracked his knuckles in the same slow pace—and the noise from the cracking sounded like he was hearing something underwater. The man then pulled back his fist and then threw it forward. He could see the agonizingly slow punch heading right towards him, and he wanted to dodge. To get the hell away from Goldie's fist.

But he couldn't. He was trapped.

And when the fist finally made contact with his cheek—when he wanted to brace himself or roll with it to lessen the damage—he did nothing but watch as it slowly dug into his cheek.

And then he felt searing pain erupt in his cheek as blood gushed from his mouth. And he could see the blood leaving from his mouth float in the air as his head was slowly whipped to the side.

And then Goldie punched him again.

And again.

And again.

Every time Goldie fist struck, he could hear the sound of his bones breaking with each impact—his Aura long gone by this point. Every part of his upper body was struck by slow punches that he should've been able to dodge, but couldn't. He could feel his face slowly becoming swollen and disfigured as the pain from every blow seemed worse than the last. When Goldie punched him the eye, he could _feel_ the black eye forming as he almost completely lost vision in said pupil. Every ounce of blood that left his body he could _feel_ leaving—and he never thought it was possible for so much blood to leave a person's body and for them to somehow stay conscious.

But he had. He was still breathing even when he should be dead.

And just as Goldie pulled his fist back, he saw something. His vision was smeared with blood—his black eye not helping in the least—and he could barely see anything; but for one moment, he thought he saw…green.

For one moment, he thought Goldie's eyes had gone from blue to green.

But in the next second, the green he had seen was gone as menacing blue eyes glared at him. And he watched as another punch slowly approached his face. And when the punch made contact with his cheek, he felt the familiar sting that would eventually become blinding pain. As his cheek was slowly pushed to the side, he once again saw something.

A flash of yellow. For one instant, he saw a bright yellow light surrounding the man's fist. And he thought—for just an instant—Goldie's fist looked…different.

He thought it looked...golden.

 **[Mercury Black]**

 **[The Assassin for a Maiden]**

 **[Status-]**

But just for an instant. Because in the next, pain _roared_ throughout his head as Goldie followed through with his punch. And then Goldie shouted. It sounded distorted and was spoken impossibly slow, but he could still make out the word.

 _"MUDA!"_

 **[-Retired!]**

The world suddenly sped up. And now free from Goldie's powers, he let out a scream that he had been wanting to unleash since the first punch. He felt his body soar through the air before crashing _through_ a wooden wall.

For a moment, he blacked out. He could feel and see nothing as his mind drifted.

But only for a moment. Because his mind suddenly screamed that he needed to stay awake. That he couldn't fail _her._

He opened his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was that there was still darkness surrounding him. There was also something metallic leaning against his face. Slowly, his vision became somewhat clearer and he could see that he was in some kind cramped dark space between the walls—and, was someone…whistling?

He let out a cough, and he could taste nothing but blood in his mouth. He could feel the blood dripping down his face and the large bruises on every inch of his skin. It was only because he was so used to this that he was still conscious. It was only because he was used to being beaten until he couldn't feel anything but pain that he was able to keep breathing.

But by God did it hurt.

He groaned, and the moment he did so he felt something pull him. He let out a painful shout as he was pulled out from the wall—there was a rather large hole where his upper body had once been. His back hit the ground as blood gushed from his mouth.

"You're still alive?"

He turned his head as far as he could without making his injuries any worse. He saw Goldie standing over him, eyes narrowed and lips in a thin line as he stared.

"I will admit, that's impressive. Most would have died from the shock. Is that due to your Aura or your sheer force of will?"

His only response was to cough out a glob of blood. It landed near Goldie's shoe.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter."

Goldie crouched down as he spoke, fist raised.

"You're still going to hell, after all."

Shit, no! Not like this! He couldn't let it end in a damn bookstore! But what could he do? He couldn't move and his legs—if they could even be called that—had been stripped of their weapons. His Smebalnce was a no go because his boots were gone as well; he had been stripped of any and every means he had of fighting back. There was nothing he could do to-!

An idea quickly struck him. Not a great idea—not even a good idea at that—but it was the only thing he could think of that might get him out alive.

"You…you sure you wanna do that?"

His voice was raspy, and it took everything he had not to keep his words steady. The loss of blood was beginning to make him nauseous, but he pressed on as he glared at Goldie.

Goldie raised a brow in response.

"Is this some attempt to make me reconsider killing you? If it is, I can promise you that no matter what you say, I'll still be willing to end your life."

Goldie paused and stared at him with cold blue eyes. And he felt his heart beat quicken—even as he felt more and more blood leaving his body.

And then, finally, Goldie spoke again.

"But I suppose I could listen to a dying man's final words. I'm not heartless, after all."

Goldie's eyes turned into a glare.

"But please hurry up."

This was his last chance to live. So, he pushed past the pain his body was in a gave Goldie a cocky smirk.

"Do…do you wanna know who sent us to kill Tukson?"

"I'm going to assume someone who has connections to the White Fang."

He let out a chuckle.

"You're…You're half right on that."

Goldie tilted his head, waiting for him to continue. Good. At the very least, Goldie was listening to him.

"It's not someone with…with _connections_ with the White Fang."

He coughed another glob of blood before continuing.

"It's someone who's got the White Fang under her heel."

Goldie's expression was still emotionless. He gave no response, so he continued speaking.

"It's someone…someone who can scare…terrorist. Someone who…who has control of every major criminal in Vale."

Still no response.

"And I'm…I'm one of her top subordinates."

He coughed, his vision darkening but he refused to lose consciousness here. His smirk grew as he let out several long breaths.

"You…you really wanna piss someone like that off by killing me? You're already in deep shit just by fighting u-us in the middle of our job. And if you kill me..."

He made sure that his smirk was still smug, even though it began to hurt keeping his mouth curled upright.

"You'll be hunted…like a damn animal."

He was hoping that Goldie would buy that. That Goldie would be cautious enough not to anger the person he just described. Hopefully, the man would remember Emerald's earlier words about their boss and maybe, just maybe…

Goldie's expression was still empty. His eyes still held no emotion whatsoever as he took a step closer. And Goldie's eyes were still emotionless when the man slammed his foot down on his wrist.

He cried out in pain as he heard the bones in his wrist break like branches. The only reason he wasn't rolling in agony was that his body was in too much pain to even move.

"I would say it's because of all the blood loss that you tried such an idiotic idea, but something tells me that you're just that stupid."

His entire body felt like it was on fire. Every muscle within him was suddenly roaring with pain.

Goldie slowly moved around him—looking down with cold blue eyes.

"Ignoring the fact that I have already killed one of your alleged boss' top subordinates, ignoring how you obviously can't back up you even work for such a woman…."

Once Goldie was in position, the man slammed his foot onto his other wrist. And once again, he let out a scream full of agony.

"You think that you can intimidate me enough just by mentioning someone else's name. You can't just die with dignity, no. You have to rely on someone else's power in an effort to save your own life."

Darkness flooded his vision. He could see nothing as he continued to scream from the agony his body was in. But he could hear Goldie's footsteps. He could feel the fingers that grabbed at the neck of his jacket.

"Such threats are useless…"

He felt his body being picked off the ground.

"Useless…"

The darkness faded. But he wished it hadn't; his screams coming to an abrupt end. Maybe it was because of all the blood loss. Maybe it was because he had been hit far too many times in the head. But no matter what the reason was, he still saw _her._

The only thing he could see in front of him was raven black hair. His vision—even though it was so blurry—could make out almost every detail of the flashing amber eyes glaring at him. He couldn't look away from the expression laced with cold fury and hatred. His blood turned to pure ice as the deadly gaze sent towards him pierced his body.

Goldie was gone. And in his place stood Cinder Fall.

"Useless."

He could only hear the familiar low, almost sultry voice of his boss. A voice that she had used so many times on whatever fool got in her way. Every word that left her lips told him just how much he was about to suffer. And in that moment, he had never been more terrified in his entire life.

He felt a vicious grip on his throat and he gasped. He saw that Goldie was back and that his frightening gaze was locked right onto him. The last bit of air left in his body was slowly leaving him as everything around him grew hazy.

Well…he guessed this was it.

Through his hazy vision, he watched as Goldie pulled back his fist.

See you in hell, Da-.

He saw something. Well, _someone._

As his eyes—well, more like eye considering how badly damaged his left eye was—followed Goldie's fist, he saw someone crawling on the ground.

Emerald.

Shouldn't she be dead?

He saw her—bloody, face swollen and bruised that it might actually be worse than his own—slowly crawling towards one of her sickles.

Oh, right…that cracking sound he heard before wasn't her neck or bones.

He saw Goldie eye's narrow.

"What are you looking at?"

Goldie turned around, and his eyes went wide as he saw Emerald pick up her weapon.

It had been the floor. Goldie had hit the floor and not Emerald with his last strike.

Goldie was about to say something, but he never got the chance before Emerald shifted her sickle into her gun form, and then fired from the ground.

She must have used her Semblance on Goldie when the man had turned to face him.

The bullet hadn't been aimed for Goldie but instead—as he followed the path of trajectory—he saw the bullet head for…the hole he emerged from? Why would-.

Oh.

Now he saw why. And now he knew what that whistling sound he heard—and had still been hearing for a while now—was.

Gas.

Gas, from the pipes that he had broken when Goldie smashed him through a wall.

Gas, made from Dust that was most likely extremely flammable.

Gas, that had been ignited the moment Emerald's bullet hit the pipes.

And then all he saw were flames.

 _To Be Continued~_

 **Hello, all you wonderful readers out there!**

 **First, let me just say thank you for all the support you've been showing this story! The amount of reviews and favorites and follows this story's been receiving has astounded me! So again, thank you all so much!**

 **Now then, the next update won't be for a while. I'm trying to upload a new chapter of my main stories every month, so in February all try to upload a new chapter of my new story, The Lazy Painter. Then in March, I'll try to upload a new chapter of Gems are Unbreakable. And then in April, we get back to Requiem. So sorry, but I hope you all understand!**

 **If you have any thoughts, suggestion, or theories as to where this story is going, don't be afraid to say so in the reviews! Or if you want to have a general discussion about this fic, head on over to SpaceBattles where I've also uploaded this story!**

 **This is the Black Mage of Phantasm signing off! Peace**


	4. Side Story: The Mechanical Girl

**AN: Due to requests from several readers, I have made this Side Stroy its own chapter—which is how I will proceed to handle Side Stories in the future.**

 **If you're looking for the new chapter, its the one right after this one.**

 _Side Story: The Mechanical Girl_

It was a nice day. Temperature a steady seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit—or twenty-four point four degrees Celsius. Humidity low and the sky a majestic blue—majestic, she should use that word more often—and would be for a while, going by the forecast for the evening.

But even though it was such a lovely day, her mood was rather…glum? Ah, yes, glum. That was the word; General Ironwood had used it several times before, and she felt it was a rather apt description for herself.

Penny Polendina frowned as she sat alone on a bench. She was outside the Vale Cross Continental Tower—specifically twenty-three feet away from the main side of the building—and her eyes scanned the men and women walking around the plaza. Most were students, which was the most logical outcome since the tower was within Beacon school grounds. But there were other people here as well, civilians who came here to perhaps…talk to friends who weren't with them right now.

She felt her frown deepen.

This…might not have been the wisest choice she could have made. She didn't know why she had decided to break away from the Atlesian soldiers who had been sent to guard her, nor did she understand what made her want to venture to the Cross Continental Tower of all places...

But here she was. Fiddling with her fingers on her lap as she looked down at the ground.

She supposed it was rather inaccurate to say she had _no_ idea as to why she had decided to defy General Ironwood's orders and venture off by herself. She would be lying if she said that coming back Vale hadn't brought up several memories that made her almost unknowingly step away from her guards when they weren't looking. And she would be lying if she said that once she had snuck away, she hadn't thought up of several plans of having just as much fun as she could.

But once she had snuck away, she almost immediately realized that her plans were unrealistic.

Because all of her plans involved seeing her one and only friend. Ruby Rose.

She sighed.

She knew that it was silly; she knew that she shouldn't be thinking about visiting people she couldn't—well, shouldn't, technically—visit. While her father hadn't forbidden her from seeing her new friend, he did heavily imply it would be reckless to try and do so, since she might risk revealing her true nature by accident. It was expected of her to maintain a low cover for now. The Vtyal Festival was fast approaching and with so many people from so many different Kingdoms in Vale, there were more eyes on the city now more than ever. Eyes belonging to so many different organizations and governments that would take a keen interest in her if the truth was exposed.

And she did not like to think where exactly that "interest" might lead.

So yes, staying with General Ironwood and his men would have been the smart choice; the wise choice. As she ran the odds in her head, she saw there was a thirty-two percent higher chance of something going wrong now that she was away from her guards; though, the odds of things that could physically hurt her were almost minuscule. She was combat ready at all times, but the problem was that the threat she faced wasn't physical. It was the threat that her secret—that Atlas' secret— would be revealed.

And she did not need to be told again just how bad such events would be if they were to occur.

Which meant that right now, regardless of what she wanted to do, she had to make the most logical choice. And right now, logic was dictating that she return to General Ironwood and his guards.

She was already moving up from the bench and beginning to walk away, shoes clicking on the stone ground.

She was making the right choice. The fact of that matter was that if she visited Ruby, she would be risking so much just to satisfy her own selfish desires. She needed to be responsible; to not let her feelings cloud her judgment. This was the right choice to make, she knew that.

But…

She was now walking along the side of the tower—intent on taking the shortest path out of the plaza—as she weaved through the crowd; taking care not to bump into anyone.

But…she still wanted to see Ruby. Ever since she had left the docks, she hadn't been allowed to do much of anything that didn't involve running tests on her body or working to further enhance her skills. She hadn't truly talked to anyone—in terms of talking about things normal teenage girls would talk about—and the months of keeping most of her thoughts to herself was driving her…stir-crazy? Was that word? She supposed the exact the word didn't matter; just the fact that the months of solitude were making her wish to talk to someone that treated her like she was a real girl.

She was quickly approaching one of the tower's corners.

But…as much as she wanted to talk to her friend again, she couldn't help but think about what might happen if her friend found out the truth. And if Ruby were to find out about _what_ she really was…then she might lose her one and only friend.

And that was something she did not ever want to happen.

She glanced to the floor, sighing. There were fewer people walking by here, and she was sure that no one was in her immediate vicinity—so it would be fine to lower her eyes for a moment.

This is the right choice. You know this.

She slowly glanced back up.

But that didn't make it any-.

Her green eyes went wide.

Maybe it was because she hadn't been paying as much attention as she thought; or, maybe it was because he simply rounded the corner of the building at the moment she looked down. But no matter the reason, the fact still remained that there was now a man mere inches away from her. A man whose eyes were firmly on his scroll as he continued to walk forward.

And as he took another half step forward, he glanced up from the scroll, eyes widening once he saw her inches away from colliding with him. In her mind, she saw that she had less than a second to do something; otherwise, she would crash into the man.

So, she moved. She side stepped to the right, and she was sure that she fully avoided the man.

Until she felt the tip of her left shoe meet with the man's own shoe. The man instantly stumbled, scroll falling out of his hands as he plummeted to the ground.

And as he fell, she saw confusion within the man's expression as he stared up at her. But the confusion vanished the moment the side of the man's nose made contact with the flat stone edging surrounding a planted tree in the middle of the concrete ground.

She heard a crack. And when the man pushed himself up from the stone edging, one hand covering his nose, she saw blood staining the large stone he had crashed into.

Her eyes widened even further.

Oh, my goodness.

"Ow."

She whipped her head and saw the man back on his feet. She saw he was wearing a blue suit of some kind with several broaches in the shape of ladybugs at the front. She saw that he had yellow hair that was neatly curled and braided in the back to form a small tail.

And she saw that there was blood trailing from underneath the gloved hand covering his nose.

What was the expression again? Eyes popping out of her sockets? She was sure that expression would be a _very_ good description for what her eyes were doing right now.

Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!

The man slowly turned his head towards her. And once he was fully facing her, the man spoke.

"Ah, my apol-."

"I am so sorry!"

She had instantly moved so that she was only a few inches away from the man; her voice full of regret as she stared.

This was a nightmare! An absolute nightmare! In literally five-point-three seconds she had violated one of Atlas' most sacred codes; never harm an innocent civilian!

"I should have been watching where I was going! I did not mean to injure you!"

There was discomfort in the man's expression. Which was to be expected since she had hurt the man to the point of causing blood loss!

"Miss, I am-."

She once again moved closer, interrupting the man before he could finish. She placed her hands on the man's cheeks, the discomfort in his expression growing.

"On a scale of one to immense agony, how would you rate your pain!?"

The man took a step back and she quickly followed him, making sure that her hands were still on his cheeks as her eyes scanned him.

"Miss, I understand you're worried, but if you let me finish-."

"Do you feel lightheaded?! Is your vision blurry!? Do you feel like you're going to die!?"

Another step back, and once again she followed him. Her eyes were still scanning his injuries and, for some reason, it was taking far longer than it should've to determine just how injured the man was.

"As I have been trying to say-."

"Do you wish for me to call an ambulance!? No, wait, perhaps it would be better if I take you to the hospital myself!"

She saw his blue eyes narrow.

"Miss."

"Do you feel like you could make the trip to the hospital!? If not, I will try my best to heal you myself!"

She was well aware that panicking and shouting would not in any way help the man, but she hadn't been trained for this! In battle, yes, she could easily determine how injured an ally was and suggest appropriate medical treatment from there. But this wasn't a battle, this was her own clumsiness getting an innocent civilian injured; her scanners were not even helping her determine how injured the man was, malfunctioning at the worst of times and saying there were no injuries present on him!

"Miss."

She heard irritation in the man's voice; the fact that she could recognize that emotion must have meant the man was especially incensed right now. But why wouldn't a man who she may or may not have killed be irritated at her!?

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry for doing this to you! I swear not every Atlas' student is a destructive monster like me!"

"Miss."

There was more irritation in his voice now, but she tried to focus more on coming up with a solution to help the man with his injuries.

"Do you know what blood type you are!? You may require surgery, I'm not sure!"

" _Miss."_

She saw his left eye twitch; were it not for her enhanced eyesight she might have missed it. Oh no, eye twitching was an early sign of brain aneurysms! And considering how much he kept repeating himself and emphasizing the same word over and over again, there was a very large chance of that happening at any second!

"Oh my goodness I am so sorry!"

Another twitch.

"I did not mean to kill-!"

"Miss!"

The man grabbed her shoulders as he shouted, pushing her several steps back with ease despite the fact that she was much heavier than she looked. She looked up at his face...

And saw that his nose was perfectly fine; not crooked or bent in the slightest. His face was absent of any cuts; there wasn't even a hint of blood staining his face as his narrowed blue eyes stared at her.

"I. Am. Fine."

With that terse assurance, she once again began to examine his body with her scanners—the x-ray function displaying the man's skeleton. The bones in his nose still showed no signs of cracks or any fractures.

But…

"How are you fine!?"

Her head whipped to the stone edging the man crashed into; she could still see the blood dripping from the stone.

"Your nose hit the edging at the worst possible angle. It should be broken; I heard the cartilage snapping."

She had stopped shouting, but that did not mean her voice no longer had any panic left within it.

"In fact, your nose should be at the very least bleeding and swelling and possibly bruising."

The man looked down at the stone he had hit.

"Well, as you can see, I am not injured. Nor am I dying."

The man then turned to face her as he let go of her shoulders.

"So, there is no need to shout."

She watched as the man glanced behind her, and she followed his gaze and turned her head around. She could see that there were now about a dozen people staring at them, attracted by all of her shouting. Some seemed confused, some vaguely worried, and others had out their Scrolls and seemed ready to dial at any moment. And while she had little to no social aptitude, something told her it was rather bad to have a plethora of civilians staring at her thinking she had just severely injured a man.

She let out several nervous chuckles as she smiled; a very crooked, very awkward smile.

"It's okay! I did not kill him!"

She pointed at the man to further emphasize her point.

The people around them continued to stare for several more moments, and she knew that her smile was becoming more and more strained with every moment. When she got back to General Ironwood, the first thing she would ask would be what to do when civilians thought you were a murderous criminal.

But eventually, after one minute and three seconds of silence, the crowd of staring civilians slowly began to continue walking to whatever destination they had been heading towards before.

Her shoulders sagged, glad no one had called the local authorities. She did not want to explain to General ironwood why she had been arrested.

She heard a sharp exhale from behind her. Turning around, she saw the man once again covering his face with one gloved hand.

"Oh no, are you in pain?"

She took a few steps forward as she looked him over, concern within her words. After all, why else would he have a hand massaging the bridge of his nose? The man slowly removed his hand from his face as his narrowed blue eyes stared at her, frowning. For about fifteen seconds, he did not speak.

"Did the blow to your face indeed hurt you in some way?"

As she spoke again, He continued to stare at her. But after ten seconds, his frown slowly moved into a thin line as he raised a brow.

"You're being serious, aren't you?"

She blinked.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You are honestly just asking me if I am in pain?"

"Yes."

"You are unable to pick up the fact that I am vaguely annoyed right now, and am trying to alleviate my stress by massaging my nose."

She blinked again.

"Oh. In that case, no. No, I did not."

And then as she began to process the man's words.

"Oh wait, if you're annoyed than that means it's because of…"

She didn't finish as she realized that it was because of her that the man was annoyed. And considering that she had been the one to knock the man to the ground, even if he hadn't been injured, she couldn't blame him for feeling that way.

Her body went stiff as she felt remorse rising in her expression. She shifted on her feet as she glanced to the ground. This…definitely was not sensational.

"I am sor-."

"You have repeated yourself three times already. Please do not do so a fourth time."

The man's firm voice made her flinch; for a moment, she was reminded of General Ironwood when he was about to reprimand one of his soldiers. She shouldn't have come to the tower. Then she wouldn't have inconvenienced a random stranger. Then she wouldn't have incensed someone due to her carelessness.

"Besides, your apologies are meaningless to me."

She flinched harder this time. She truly made a mess of things, didn't she?

"Especially since I'm the one who should be apologizing."

You see Penny, this is what happens when you act selfishly and-.

When she finally processed, the man's words her head snapped up as she stared at him.

"Wait, what?"

The only thing within her two words was confusion as the man let out a sigh.

"You did nothing wrong. The fault lies with me."

"But…I tripped you."

"Only because I wasn't looking where I was going. And if you hadn't dodged, I would have just collided into you."

The man's eyes—eyes that were actually very calm despite what she had just done—stared into hers.

"I can not exactly place blame on you for my own carelessness."

She blinked, the confusion within her continuing to rise.

"You are…not mad?"

"Only at myself for being so careless."

She…was not sure how to respond to that. While she had little social experience, she would have thought that tripping a man and causing him to bleed would lead to said man becoming angry with her. And something told her that this man's reaction shouldn't be considered a normal response.

She watched as the man looked down to the floor, eyes glancing around. It looked like he was searching for something.

Oh, wait.

"You're scroll is fifteen feet behind you."

The man looked up at and saw her pointing a finger behind him. The man slowly turned around and followed the direction of her finger, and his eyes looked to the scroll laying on the concrete facedown.

"Ah, thank you."

The man walked towards his scroll, and once he was close enough, he picked it up with one hand.

She kept thinking back to the crack she heard, eyes glancing towards the stone edging and the blood that still stained it. She didn't understand how an average civilian could heal that fast unless-.

She blinked again.

Oh. Now that she thought about, _that_ would explain what she had just seen quite easily.

"Do you have your Aura unlocked?"

The man turned to face her, and after two seconds, spoke.

"Yes, I do."

"Oh. I see."

So, she was right; the man had Aura. He must have been greatly surprised by his sudden fall then if he didn't properly channel his Aura to protect himself.

She then looked him over.

"Then that means you are a Huntsman?"

She almost said Huntsman-in-training, but the man was clearly quite too old to be a student at any academy. Going by his height—which was several inches taller than her own—the static lines on his face and his sharp jaw, the man looked to be in his mid to early twenties.

"No, I am not."

As the man gave his answer, he placed his scroll back in his pocket before looking back to her.

"I am something else."

She tilted her head to one side. Something else? What could he mean by-?

"But I am afraid I must leave now."

The man's words interrupted her thoughts; she saw him turn on his heels before walking away. Well, she supposed she had kept the man away from his tasks. And she should do the same; it wouldn't be wise to continue-.

"May we meet again, friend."

Her thoughts came to a crash. The last word the man said kept repeating over and over again in her head.

She didn't know when, but she had moved. And seemingly instantaneously, she was in front of the man again. She saw his eyes widen as he stopped walking, his head whipping behind him before quickly turning back to her.

"Weren't you behind me?"

She didn't respond to the man's question; instead, she stared at him with her wide green eyes.

"Did you just say 'friend?'"

The man blinked.

"Yes."

"As in, you called me, a friend?"

Hesitance rose within the man's eyes—why, she could not say—and after another two seconds, he spoke.

"Yes. Why?"

She could feel the joy that lit up her eyes. Her lips curled into a big, wide smile as she let out a delightful squeal.

"Oh, that is wonderful!"

Yes, she was aware that she had just decided to go back to the General. Yes, she knew that it was hypocritical to the extreme that she felt such joy from that one word when she had just thought of the ramifications of spending time with anyone who didn't already know about her secret.

But…but…

This was a chance to make another friend; this man had just offered her friendship even after what she had done. And the idea—just the mere idea of becoming friends with someone who viewed her like she was normal— was more than enough to make the joy suffusing her grow with every second.

"Do you truly mean that?! Do you truly consider me a friend?!"

The man looked at her, expression blank. His blue eyes stared at her own; there was no emotion at all within them. As she continued to stare at the man—smile still in place—she noticed the man's mouth move from a thin line to a frown. A very deep frown.

For about two minutes and three seconds, the man made no response. He only stared at her. And her smile slowly diminished as the seconds continued to linger.

"Is…something wrong?"

Still no answer from the man. His only response was for his eyes to narrow. And once again, she thought of General Ironwood. She thought about the times he would deeply concentrate over a problem; trying to come to a satisfactory answer when he only had a limited time to think of a solution.

And after another minute, the man spoke again.

"You're being serious again, aren't you?

Her expression was now perplexed.

"Yes."

She tilted her head, and the man slowly looked her over, eyes trailing over every inch of her body.

"Miss, how would you rate your social skills?"

"Oh, near to nonexistent."

Her honest reply made the man's expression tighten—she could see his eyebrows furrowing together. It looked like he was contemplating something.

"Now, I have a series of hypothetical questions I would like you to answer. "

"Oh…okay. What are they?"

The man placed two fingers under his chin, pointer and thumb to be specific.

"Say a man dressed in black offered to be your friend, someone you have never once seen before. Someone who just seemed to pop out from some alley on the street just when you're alone and no else is in sight. What would your response be?"

Oh, well, in that case…

"I would ask if he truly wanted to be friends."

"And if he said that was what he wanted?"

She smiled.

"Then I would be jubilant for making another friend!"

She saw the man's frown become even deeper.

"Alright. Now, say your new friend asked you to get into a big white van. Your response?"

"I would ask where we are going?"

"Say he said it was to meet up with some of his friends. And he further explained that it was his intent to introduce you to them. How would you respond?"

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, then I get into his van and eagerly await to meet his friends!"

The moment she answered, the man placed a hand on her shoulder. And his expression was now grim as he let out a small sigh.

"I can not leave you like this."

She once again blinked.

"Huh?"

* * *

" _Ooh."_

Penny Polendina had little to no understanding of social norms. Before, anyway. Now though…

"I see!"

Now, she could say she understood _some_ of them.

She turned her head to the blonde-haired man sitting a few feet away from her. They were both sitting on another bench—this one overlooking a small park near the tower—and she smiled at the man.

"In regards to the questions you asked me earlier, my correct response should have been not to get in the van, but to instead get away from the man as quickly as possible; as he would have most likely taken me to…"

How had he phrased it? Oh, right!

"An unfavorable location where a bunch of grown adult men would have me surrounded and would attempt to force me to do illicit activities with me! The most likely of which being-."

"You are correct. However, when talking about something like _that,_ you shouldn't talk with such glee. Remember what I said before about how you should watch your words and tone when discussing certain topics?"

She blinked at the man's interruption, and then she remembered what he had said before as her eyes widened

"Ahh, yes! When conversing about serious and or sensitive topics, one must be careful about tone of voice and specific words used. Otherwise, to the person you are speaking to, it will sound like you aren't giving the topic the proper respect it deserves."

She raised a hand to her side before lifting a finger.

"One example would be if someone close to you recently lost a loved one, then it would be a poor idea to make it seem like they'll 'get over it' within a few days. Instead, one should offer sympathy and a 'shoulder to lean on' in order to help them through the grieving process."

"Correct."

The man gave her a small nod, and her smile was back now.

"In addition, when someone calls another 'friend,' depending on context, it could be mean a variety of different things."

That had been one of the more confusing things the man had told her. But with enough explanation, she felt like she had a somewhat solid grasp on what the man was trying to tell her.

"Sometimes, people may call me a friend in an attempt to lower my guard and trust them, that way they can manipulate me to do whatever they want. Other times, it could be used as an insult or perhaps to mock one if used with heavy sarcasm."

She pointed a finger at the man.

"In your case, you called me 'friend' just to be polite and did not mean anything by it!"

The man once again nodded, lips curling just slightly upward.

"Right again. It seems you are starting to understand."

She nodded her head eagerly.

"And it's all thanks to you, sir!"

Really, he had helped her tremendously. Explaining things with great care that no one—not even her father or General Ironwood—had ever done before. Whenever she asked a question that she knew most would already know by her age, the man took the time to go into detail and made sure that he explained in a way that would help her understand.

"I had no idea that there were so many intricacies and nuances when it came to socially engaging with other people. But now, I do! I feel like I can confidently have a conversation with someone like a normal person! All thanks to you!"

"It is no problem, Ms. Polendina."

"Please, call me Penny!"

Her smile grew as the man chuckled.

"Alright then, Penny."

The man had told her that while he couldn't say they were friends—and yes, that had made her a touch upset—he did say he was open to being acquaintances. And that was fine with her, once he had explained what exactly an acquaintance was. It was someone who wasn't quite a friend, but was also someone who you liked enough not to mind spending time with.

And really, just being able to spend time with _anyone_ would make her happy; whether they be a friend or an acquaintance. Like right now.

"I shall be sure to use the things you taught me to good use!"

"Just remember, Penny; you shouldn't immediately try to make friends with everyone. You should observe who you're talking to first, try to get an idea as to what their personality is like through small talk, and then decide if you want to be friends from there. You should also make sure to look at their body language to see if they are either trying to deceive or manipulate you; so, practice the tips I gave you to avoid failing to such tricks."

She once again nodded.

"I will, sir!"

The man smiled.

"Excellent."

"You are most kind, sir!"

And he truly was! She was fairly certain that it wasn't common for random people to take the time out of their day to give advice to strangers about things that should be obvious to everyone.

"I do not know how I could repay you!"

She would have to figure out some way to. She didn't know what exactly she could do right now, but maybe she-.

"Actually, there is something you can do for me."

She blinked as the man's words brought her out of her thoughts. She looked at the man as he crossed one leg over his knee.

"You said before that you were from Atlas, correct?"

She heard a hint of curiosity in the man's voice amidst his cordial tone.

"Oh, yes, I am."

She tilted her head to the side.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's just, do you know General Ironwood?"

She froze; her entire body became stiff.

"Um...wha-what?"

This was not good. At all.

"It's just, several times throughout our conversation, you mentioned a General."

Oh no…

"And, if memory serves right, General Ironwood is one of the few people in Atlas who holds that rank, correct?"

Calm down. Calm down. She had to push the past the fear rising within her and calm down. Because she could not afford to break one of her promises to the general.

She slowly nodded her head, trying not to make the movement to stiff.

"Th-that is correct, yes."

The man's smile grew as he clamped his hands together.

"Ah, so you do know him!"

Her eyes widened.

"No!"

Do not hiccup. Do. Not. Hiccup.

She looked into the man's eyes, trying not to show her unease on her expression; but she was almost positive that she was failing as her anxiety grew stronger the longer she stared at the man.

The man blinked, looking down before rubbing his chin.

"Oh? But I was almost positive that you went into great detail at one point about how a general helped you adjust to your student life once you were accepted."

Oh no, she did say that! She had been so energetic with the man that some things had just slipped from her tongue—though, not an actual tongue because she didn't have one—without her realizing until right now!

She quickly reviewed exactly what she said to the man, and if she had blood, she was certain she would have paled.

"And, if memory serves right, did you not also say this General also gave you special tutelage for years? And that he helped prepare you to enter Atlas' Huntsman Academy and still helps you even now?"

The man raised a brow at her.

She couldn't panic. She couldn't let her fear make her do something that might make the situation worse. She just had to tell the man he misheard her; it was that simple, she just had to…lie.

She knew her expression was nervous, and that no matter how hard she tried, the smile she gave the man was awkward at best.

Do. Not. Hiccup.

"I…I believe you are mistaken s-."

She didn't finish as a large hiccup interrupted her. She slapped a hand over her mouth as her fear once again rose.

The man tilted his head to one side, eyebrow rising higher.

"Are you alright?"

"I am fi-."

Another hiccup; she slapped her hand on her mouth again. How could she even hiccup in the first place!? She lacked both a diaphragm and vocal cords!

She saw the man was staring at her, confusion within his eyes.

"Do you need some water?"

"N-no! I am truly fine, sir!"

She was smiling again; a horrible, obviously strained smile.

"A-and to answer your earlier questions, I am afraid you misheard me!"

Her voice grew louder as she hiccupped again. But this time, she pressed on.

"I did not mention a General before. I-I said that I was _generally_ tutored and helped throughout the years by a variety of people!"

She hiccupped. Curses, stop doing that!

She let out an absolutely awful laugh.

"I have only really seen General Ironwood in passing! Which is perfectly normal for an average, nonspecial Atleasian student that attends his academy! But aside from that, I have never seen or spent any time with the man!"

She bit her lower lip; this time, the hiccup did not escape her mouth, but it still made her shoulders shake.

The man was still staring at her.

"Is that a fact?"

She tried to give him an easy-going smile but…well, she felt how her lips kept twitching as she failed spectacularly to keep her nerves from showing on her face.

"Ye-yes."

Do not hiccup! She had promised General Ironwood that no one would learn about her relationship with him or any of Atlas' military. There were far too many questions that would arise if someone were to figure out that fact.

This time, somehow, she kept herself from hiccupping. She stared at the man with her incredibly nervous smile as he stared back, his expression calm as opposed to her fearful one. For roughly two minutes, neither she nor the man spoke, and she hadn't seen the man blink even once since the silence started.

And then, he broke away from her gaze as looked down, rubbing his chin with his gloved fingers.

"I see. My apologies, I was almost positive you said you knew a General."

Oh, thank goodness he believed her.

She didn't let out a sigh of relief because she knew that would be suspicious. Instead, she let out a laugh, trying to make it sound genuine and not forced.

"W-well that's okay. We all make mistakes."

The man glanced at her.

"I suppose so."

The man then pulled out his scroll from one of his pockets, powering it on before looking at the screen.

"I should be going now."

"Oh, I didn't keep you away from other important matters, did I?"

The man only smiled in response to her question.

"Nothing like that. I do have something to attend to later today, but I still have plenty of time to make that little appointment. If anything, you helped me pass the time in a rather enjoyable matter."

"Really?"

"Of course. After all…"

The man moved a touch closer to her, and then he reached out with one hand towards her face. His fingers then grabbed a stray lock of her orange hair that had fallen out of place and placed it behind her ear.

"What better way is there to spend one's time then by talking to such a lovely lady?"

His gloved hand stroked her cheek. And his smile became…odd. She had never seen anyone give her a smile quite like the one man was giving her. There was a kind of…affection in it that looked different from any other time she had seen that emotion on someone's face—such as her father or General Ironwood.

She squinted her eyes at the man, confusion scrunching up her face as she stared; she reviewed the words the man had said to her and tried to discern their meaning.

Wait, she felt like they had discussed something like this earlier; she was fairly certain that even her father had told her something similar at one point. What exactly was it? When a person gives flattering comments and warm gestures to someone of the opposite sex they were most likely-.

She blinked, confusion fading somewhat.

Oh…was this man flirting with-?

There was something pricking her skin.

Her hand instantly shot to the spot on the back of her neck where she felt the prickling. But her palm felt nothing.

"Something the matter?"

She saw that the man was looking at her, expression curious. Well, she supposed that was a normal reaction when one sees someone spontaneously slapping their neck.

"Oh, nothing. I simply thought I felt something on my skin; perhaps an insect of some sort."

The man removed his hand from her cheek, and she removed her hand from her neck. She examined her palm, expecting to see perhaps the remains of an insect, but it was completely bare.

"It was probably just the wind."

All evidence was pointing to that conclusion. Still though, she had been she felt something akin to legs crawling on her skin, even if it was just for an instant.

The man stood up from the bench as he turned his head towards her.

"It was a pleasure chatting with you, Penny Polendina. But I am afraid that I must say goodbye now."

Yes, she supposed she should do the same. By now, her guards would soon be closing in on her location.

She stood up from the bench and smiled.

"I hope that we can have another conversation like this in the future, sir!"

"Perhaps someday we will."

The man gave her a polite wave and one more smile.

"May we meet again, Penny."

With that, the man turned and began to walk away from her. And she smiled at the man before speaking.

"Have a lovely day!"

She turned and walked in the opposite direction, this time with a noticeable skip in her step. What a day! Learning new things about how to be a normal girl was the last thing she expected to happen to her today, but she most certainly wasn't complaining! Her social skills had probably improved leaps and bounds just by talking to the man! She didn't expect to meet someone like…like…

She blinked. Once, and then a dozen more times.

And then she froze; her smile becoming rigid.

…What was the man's name?

People walked around her still form, but she couldn't really focus on them.

Surely, she had asked at some point? They had talked for an hour and forty-three minutes; surely, at some point, she had asked such a basic, easy question that _anyone_ would ask…right?

She reviewed every detail of her conversation…and she realized she hadn't asked him once what his name was.

Not even once.

She had said her own name and introduced herself ten minutes into their talk, but she hadn't thought to ask for the blonde stranger's name; she had been too immersed in his explanations about social situations and how to respond. And now that she thought about it, she hadn't asked _anything_ about that man. Like, where he lived, what were his hobbies, why had he come to the tower or any type of question one would ask to get to know a person better. She hadn't even asked where she could find him if she ever wanted to perhaps talk again.

Her smile twitched. She slowly turned her head around back to the bench she just left. The man was nowhere near the bench or in any area she could see on the plaza. And she didn't see even a strand of the man's neatly braided hair amongst the crowds of people

Her smile plummeted into the deepest frown her lips could manage; she brought her hands over her face as she let out a groan.

"Why am I so bad at this?"


	5. Smooth Criminal

_**Chapter 4: Smooth Criminal**_

He was glad he was wearing a jacket. Because God damn, it was cold out.

Roman Torchwick checked the time on his scroll before placing it back in his jacket's left pocket. Soon, he would have to go inside the warehouse he was currently leaning against and get up on stage to convince a bunch of wannabe terrorist that joining a bunch of actual terrorists was a smart life decision. And at the same time, show off to the animals already a part of the bull's little cult that _not r_ unning away was the smart choice since they were currently in possession of some rather big guns.

He pulled his cigar out of his mouth and let out a long, smoke-filled exhale into the cold night air. Any minute now that…wolf? Bear? Chihuahua? Okay, whatever the hell Taurus' right hand was would come to let him know that he had to come in, ushering him through the back of the warehouse and to the improv-auditorium they had set up to give a speech unlike any these animals have ever heard.

He placed his cigar back in his mouth and inhaled.

He had pulled out all the stops in making sure this little gathering would go off without a hitch. After all, when Cinder Fall asked—sorry, _demanded_ you make sure no future operations would go amiss, you tend to do your damn best out of fear of immolation. And considering how livid she had been these last three weeks, there was a chance that he wasn't too far off from just how close she was to turning someone into ashes.

For a second he felt his lips twitch as he saw bruises and blood.

It was three weeks ago when he had been irritably waiting in a warehouse that he would receive what was simultaneously one of the best and worst phone calls of his life. It had been from Cinder's brats, the ones who were supposed to be there about twenty minutes ago. Once he had answered the call, he expected many things. Perhaps that silver-haired brat giving him that arrogant smirk of his as he told him that they'd been called away by their owner to do more important things than talk with him. Or perhaps Cinder's little slave calling him to tell him that they hadn't found the warehouse while "subtly" implying it was because of his directions.

What he did not expect to see was a thick patch of blood covering the camera. He could see nothing but red, and he had raised his brow as he stared at his Scroll, ears picking up only the faintest of sounds on the other end; he heard what sounded like some kind of crackling in the background as well as some dripping sound coming from…somewhere. For several moments, he had wondered just what the hell those two were doing, and why they even called him in the first place if they weren't even going to say a word.

But then the Scroll had moved. And he realized something. The camera hadn't been covered by some large spot of blood.

The Scroll itself had just been resting in a puddle of blood.

He had muttered a confused curse as he watched the scroll shakily rise from the puddle, his view shifting from one thing to the next with every shake. He had seen an orange glow coming from somewhere in the distance off-screen and the brick walls of some kind of building; and he had also seen something that he had never expect to see before. Something that he had admittedly fantasized once or twice before, but never expected to see in reality.

He had seen Emerald beaten to a damn pulp. Half of her face had been nothing more than a large black and purple bruise, blood leaking from her mouth in thick, red trails that descended down her chin; he had also seen what looked like the imprints of someone's fingers on the skin of her neck, like she had been strangled by someone _very_ strong. The right side of her face had been marked with burns of all shapes and sizes; he had seen blister's forming around her skin, bubbling and growing every second. Her red eyes that had always gleamed with confidence, in her skills, her abilities, in everything, was gone. Now, there was only desperation in her eyes.

And also, fear.

 _Ro…Roman._

Emerald's voice was weak, raspy, like she had trouble breathing; she choked on her own blood as she coughed, bright red blots leaving her mouth and hitting parts of the screen.

 _Help._

He had blinked; it was the first time she had _ever_ asked him for help. And he had never heard Emerald sound so…broken before. Gone was Cinder's little assassin, and in her place, was a girl that knew she was in an absolute shit situation. His eyes looked her over in a matter of seconds, and he had instantly realized what kind of mess Emerald was in.

And he almost laughed.

Emerald was a dead; or, at the very least close to dead, and she knew it. Somehow, someway, she had ended up in a situation that had ultimately led to this. Calling him for help—which meant that either Mercury was dead or that he was so injured he wasn't able to help her escape whatever shit they were in—because if she didn't, then she would die. In that moment, he was her last hope.

Someone who would honestly smile at the thought of her dying.

He had been so tempted to say "no" right to her face and then hang up with a smile. It had been so tempting to let that brat die and never again have to see or hear her ever again.

But he didn't say "no." Instead, he had only said three words as his mouth moved into a bitter frown.

 _Where are you?_

Oh yes, it would've been so easy to just pretend he never got that call and let them die…but then he would have to explain to Cinder why Emerald and Mercury were dead. And it wouldn't be hard for her to find out that Emerald had called him just before she died, and once Cinder did learn what he had done, she would burn him to a crisp.

So, he had to save Emerald. He had to ignore every voice telling him to this brat die—despite how it would literally make his _year—_ and go and do his very best to make sure she lived.

Because he was under no circumstances ending up on Cinder Fall's hit list.

He had arrived at where Emerald told him she was along with his men—the ones that knew basic medicine—minus Neo, who had been occupied beforehand with her "important hobbies" all the way across town. And he saw two things that instantly drew his attention.

One was Mercury; black and blue, beaten and bruised, Mercury. He along with Emerald, who had seemed to fade in and out of consciousness, were sitting in an alley a few feet away from the other. He had been in just as bad shape as Emerald, blood pooling around his body, cuts on every part of his clothes and bruises scattered on every inch of visible skin. Unfortunately, Mercury was still alive; he had heard the small, shuddery breaths that left the little shit's mouth.

But he had also seen that Mercury's legs were missing; the cocky brat's pants were literally empty, no signs of his prosthetics anywhere. Mercury was now literally only half a man as his unconscious body leaned against the wall behind him.

But the second thing he had noticed was what made him take a moment to consider just how badly shit had hit the fan.

Because a bookstore was on fire. Specifically, the bookstore that belonged to a certain traitor he had been intent on dealing with. A few streets over and far enough away where he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him or his men, a crowd of people watched as squads of firemen tried to put out the blaze on Tukson's Book Trade. He watched as the fire grew brighter and hotter despite the jets of water the fireman shot at it.

He had looked back at the two thoroughly beaten brats. And once again, he was tempted to leave these two _idiots_ to their deaths. Because it was very easy to see just what had gone wrong.

But he helped the two oh-so-close to death brats and made sure that his men properly stabilized them before shoving them into a van. And while the rest of his men made sure they didn't bleed out all over the floor, he was left with the oh-so-wonderful job of contacting his boss.

 _We have a problem._

He still shivered when he thought about the glare she gave him.

 _What did you do?_

His only response had been for him to lift his Scroll and let his wonderful boss get a full view of her bloodied, bruised, and _defeated_ brats.

 _Wasn't me that messed up, sweetheart._

He had added in that little crack because something told him it would be the last time he would get the chance.

Cinder had not reacted immediately. She had only stared. At his men moving about, gathering everything they needed to properly tend to the brats wounds. As the wheels thumped along the road and as the brats wheezed blood. If he were being honest, that silence had been absolutely suffocating.

And when he heard flames _roar_ from his Scroll, he had almost dropped the damn thing as he suddenly felt like his heart was trying to break his own ribs.

Slowly—and not at all missing the scared-shitless looks on his men—he brought the scroll back to his face.

And he saw amber eyes flashing with orange. And also pure, unadulterated _fury._

Torchwick _….what the hell happened?_

And wasn't that the million Lien question? Because—even right now—neither he or his lovely boss had any concrete ideas to who exactly was responsible for beating the shit of the brats. After he told Cinder everything he had known at the time, not even an hour later, Taurus was on the line in a three-way call. Cinder had thought that the one who was responsible for this mess was the little traitor Tukson, or maybe some kind of ally, and had demanded an explanation from Taurus as to why he didn't mention just how dangerous this animal was.

But upon hearing what exactly happened to Cinder's flunkies, the bull's only response had been a somewhat-confused "what?" Apparently, Tukson had nowhere near the strength or skills to take on either Mercury or Emerald, and especially not the both of them at once. And there was no chance of Tukson having any allies or contacts strong enough to take on and win against the brats.

And after Taurus had finished—never once lying, of that both he and Cinder could see—his boss had silently, save for the small sparks going off in the background of her Scroll, seethed. She then ordered him to find out just what happened at that bookstore and figure out if Tukson was dead or had fled. Mercury and Emerald had been stabilized, unfortunately, but they were both comatose so asking them what happened was out of the question.

But days of searching had revealed jack-shit. And that had just done _wonders_ for Cinder's mood.

Three days later, Emerald had finally woken up—screaming, apparently, according to one of the doctors on his payroll. And while he would have loved to mock the ever-loving hell out her for getting her teeth knocked out, literally, he had instead simply called Cinder's Scroll, and put her face to face with a very pissed off, very crazy, killer.

And that was never a good combination.

Cinder had commanded her "disciple" to tell her just what she and Mercury had done. And, he wouldn't lie, seeing the usually arrogant brat sweat bucket and stuttering with fear—and shame, he heard that in her every word—as she poorly retold what happened had been absolutely wonderful. And when he said poorly, he really meant horribly.

Because Emerald could barely remember just what exactly happened at Tukson's Book Trade; he supposed having multiple concussion and some swelling in the brain would make a person's memory rather spotty. She had practically no memories of the actual fight that had taken place in that bookstore, and couldn't even remember what exactly the person she fought looked like. The only thing she could say was that a single male had soundly kicked their asses after they tried to kill Tukson—tried being the keyword, because Emerald shakily told them that she and Mercury had never confirmed if they killed the traitor. And considering how no news outlet or his own men had reported finding any bodies in that bookstore, it was safe to say that Tukson was still kicking.

As well as the man responsible for this little shit-storm.

When Mercury woke up a few days later—not screaming, just incredibly angry and sullen as he looked at his now legless body—he remembered more than Emerald. It wasn't much, but the brat did give them a somewhat decent description of the man who beat them and had told them that "Goldie," Mercury's little nickname for the man, had both Aura and—from the sounds of it—an incredibly deadly Semblance. As well as some rather strange pets.

And upon learning all of this information, Cinder had been absolutely enraged; even more so than before. Because there was now a chance her entire plan could be in jeopardy.

He didn't know everything about what Cindy was planning, but he knew enough. He knew that Cinder and her brats were going to infiltrate Beacon academy under the guise of students from Haven Academy. And, while she hadn't told him, it was rather obvious that the reason for doing so had something to do with the upcoming Vytal Festival.

A festival that they couldn't exactly take place in if, and he was just spitballing here, the entire damn Kingdom were to suddenly learn that some of the brats entering said festival had attacked and tried to kill civilians.

If whoever did this had any evidence of his fight with the brats, all it would take is for him to tell anyone what happened—the police, Ozpin, even old ladies crossing the street—and the moment someone verified that yes, attempted murderers were trying to enter a tournament full of young, wannabe Huntsman, Cinder's entire team would be forced to flee as General Ironwood and his flunky Schnee pursued them.

In other words, with just this one spectacular screw-up, Cinder's plans could be put to an end before they even began.

And by God, did she let her "disciples" know that. Never once did she actually raise her voice, but the malice that made up her every word reached Mercury and Emerald's ears with ease as they both trembled. He knew what they were thinking; that was the end for them. That this crazy bitch was finally going to snap and have him kill them—which he would've done in a heartbeat.

But unfortunately, Cinder wasn't pissed off enough to kill her flunkies. Even though they could not have possibly failed worse, she still needed them. Since neither the police or Ozpin had been informed about what happened in that bookstore—both he, Cindy, and even the bull had been constantly checking to make sure—all Cinder had to do was say that a sudden "family emergency" or something along those lines had come up, and Ozpin would believe that excuse without so much as a glance. So, for now, they could still proceed with whatever the hell their plan was.

But Cinder made sure Mercury and Emerald knew that once she arrived in Vale, they would "further discuss" the brats' failure in private.

He had absolutely _adored_ the way those little shits all but whimpered.

Realizing that his cigar had been reduced to a burnt stub, he dropped it to the ground before grinding it with his heel. He then reached for the silver case in his breast pocket and opened it, pulling out another cigar.

Aside from a few moments, the last three weeks had been exhausting. Trying his best to locate whoever beat the brats, steal crates after crates of Dust all while dealing with his damn boss' temper had made him just a _tad_ stressed.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, what had happened to Mercury and Emerald had…unnerved him; if only slightly.

With a flick of his lighter, he lit the cigar now firmly between his teeth, letting the smoke whirl around in his mouth.

Those brats were good—he would never say that out loud though. Despite how young they were, they had skills to put fully trained Huntsman and Huntresses to shame. They had Semblances that were incredibly strong and knew damn well how to use them. And when they had fought "Goldie," they had weapons while he had none, and had him outnumbered with only an animal as backup.

And yet the man had still come out on top.

He let out a long puff of smoke.

He and Neo were stronger than those brats. If they ever got the bright idea to try and take him and his little murderer down without their boss around, then he was certain he and Neo would mop the floor with them.

But if they were to take him alone…if they were to fight him when he didn't have his weapon…

He took another drag, and then exhaled.

…He might have some difficulties fighting them off. And yet, this man, this seemingly random person who literally came from nowhere and who knew nothing about those brats' abilities, had done it with ease.

He frowned.

For someone to be able to pull off a win in those circumstances…he had to be a _very_ competent fighter.

Inhale. Exhale.

He also had to be very skilled to hide away from a kingpin using every resource he had to try and find out _something_ about whoever just beat the shit out of his boss' brats. He had to have some rather prestigious contacts that could help him hide his tracks and who he was from even _Cinder Fall._

The smoke was starting to taste bitter.

Whoever the hell was responsible for this was a _damn_ good criminal. And for a moment, he thought back to that bastard who was _still_ stealing Dust from under him, and also weapons from his own men's pockets. The bastard that was, much as he hated to admit it, a very skilled criminal who he had next to no information on, save for the fact that they were messing with his—and by extension, Cinder's—plans.

With one last puff of smoke, he took out his cigar and stared at the sky, eyes narrowed as his frown deepened.

It could've been a coincidence, but something—an instinct that he had developed after years of living in the deepest pits of the criminal underworld—whispered to him that it wasn't. He didn't know what exactly the connection between whoever was robbing him and whoever beat up the brats was, maybe they were part of the same group or something, he did know two things.

One, he was _definitely_ going to make sure Cinder never learned about the little thief problem he had. If his boss learned that some mysterious and skilled bastard had been stealing from him for some time, just as an equally mysterious and equally skilled bastard had kicked Mercury and Emerald's asses, then she would reach the same conclusion he had. And then, she would burn him to a crisp.

Slowly.

He shivered again.

And two…stopping whoever was stealing from him had just moved up several priorities. If he was right, and this was in fact a group of people responsible for his and Cinder's latest messes, that that meant someone was plotting. That meant that someone had managed to avoid not only his eyes, but also Cinder's eyes for who knows how long as he gathered all the resources he needed.

It meant that there was a chance that someone could be planning on fighting them. That someone _knew_ about him and Cinder. And that the fight in the bookstore might not have been as random as it seemed.

His brows were furrowed together as he dropped his cigar, not even caring that he wasn't even halfway finished as he slowly looked around. At the dozens of White Fang grunts that patrolled the area with guns and swords; grunts whose faces he didn't recognize in the slightest. At the darkness that leaked from the surrounding buildings' shadows. The streets that suddenly seemed eerily quiet. The alleys both near and far from the warehouse he leaned on that were bigger than he first thought.

Every place and every person he looked at suddenly seemed to be a lot more suspicious than it was a second ago.

He pushed off the wall and took a few steps forward, picking up Melodic Cudgel from its propped spot on the metal doors as he did so.

It might just be paranoia, but he did not get to become a criminal mastermind without being somewhat paranoid. And if he was right, if there had been some other player out there trying to take on Cinder Fall, then they were either absolute idiots— because even if he did beat the brats, that did not mean he could actually beat the damn _monster_ he was forced to work under—or had something else up his sleeve. But regardless of that, the fact that he might have orchestrated that encounter with Emerald and Mercury meant that the bastard was bold.

And at the very least, he might know about some parts of their plans.

Wasn't that just a _wonderful_ thought?

With narrowed eyes, he continued to stare at the seemingly innocent cannon fodder that worked for the bull and the growing shadows of the night that could provide the perfect cover for anyone to strike from before-.

The metal doors behind him opened with a loud bang. And then a gruff voice shouted.

"Torchwick!"

It was only because he recognized the voice that he didn't whirl around and fire his weapon at it. Instead, he slowly turned around and saw the bulls' muscular right-hand man standing in the middle of the doorway with both arms held wide.

And the moment he locked eyes with the familiar white Grimm masks all these idiots wore, he smirked.

"Ah, what's the matter? Does someone want to go for a walk?"

Any lingering feelings of _slight_ worry were extinguished as he spoke in a voice radiating with condescension. And in response to his not-so-subtle insult, the animal growled; really, these grunts made pissing them off far too easy, and yet they wondered why he never stopped being, in their incredibly crude words, a racist asshole.

"Shut up, you human piece of trash."

See? No originality whatsoever—he lost count as to how many times "the Lieutenant" called him that. Though, at least time, the animal wasn't shouting his head off and threatening him with a chainsaw.

"The demonstration's gonna start soon. So hurry up and get moving before my men let in the possible recruits."

The anger in the…for now he'd say Chihuahua's—because this bitch could seriously bark—voice faded somewhat as he impatiently gestured with his thumb to get inside.

And for less than a second, he glanced behind him, once again taking in the darkness of Vale's Industrial District and the White Fang grunts patrolling the area.

He sighed as he glanced back at the animal, slowly walking forward as he picked up his cane; spinning it around his hand by the handle.

"Fine, fine. No need to be so angry, we're all pals here, right?"

His lips stretched into his signature—he'd like to think it was, anyway—cocky smile. And the animal frowned, once again growling; though, not quite so much as before.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Without waiting for a response, He walked passed the animal and into the long, dimly illuminated corridor.

He was being too cautious. Even if these White Fang rallies weren't exactly discreet, there was still enough security around the warehouse to prevent anyone from trying anything. So what if he didn't recognize the grunts patrolling the back; he never bothered to learn any of these animals faces, so it wasn't exactly strange that he didn't. Besides, his men had set up perimeters on several different streets that could lead towards the warehouse, and if they had seen anyone trying to get passed them, they would have immediately reported it to him. And within the warehouse, there were dozens of White Fang grunts prepared to shoot anyone they might see as an enemy; and while he was sure they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, they could at least alert him with their screams if they were getting killed.

And, even if someone did decide to try and crash this little gathering of mongrels, they had a secret weapon in the form of a giant robot suit courtesy of Atlas. There was nothing to worry about.

As the Chihuahua behind him closed the metal doors with a slam, he resisted the urge to smoke another cigar. He limited himself to a certain number of cigars a day, he couldn't have his clothes smelling like smoke after all, and he had already reached that limit.

There was nothing to worry about…yet he still found himself slowly glancing around at the darker corners of the corridor as he made sure his grip on Melodic Cudgel was secure. Because even though to try and attack a rally full of enemies was idiotic, especially when they had nothing to gain from doing so, he still couldn't stop that uneasy feeling in the back of his mind from growing. Mercury and Emerald had probably felt assured that nothing would go wrong with trying to kill Tukson, and yet they had ended up in a damn hospitable bed so who was to say the same couldn't happen to-.

He quickly shook his head, rubbing his hand along his face. Damn it, he was being ridiculous. The stress he'd been dealing with for the past three weeks was starting to get to him; that was all. Who wouldn't start acting irrationally if their bitch of a boss kept complaining about their work ethic all while never once actually coming down to see them competently doing their job?

Mid-step, he stopped walking. And both of his eyes narrowed.

…Why wasn't Cinder here? Even after learning about what was going on in Vale, she still didn't see the need to stop whatever it was she was doing and come check on this rather large problem. When he asked her, she told him that "other matters still need my attention," and at the time he had been to busy dealing with a million different things to question her further. But now that he thought about it, what the hell could be more important than a possible threat to her plans? What could actually grab Cinder Fall's full attention even when other problems needed to be dealt with?

With a glance, he saw that Taurus' right hand was giving him an odd look as he approached from behind. He quickly continued to walk and pretend as if he hadn't stopped for no apparent reason, rounding a corner as he tapped his cane along the ground.

He could think about what was keeping his boss occupied for so long later. For now…

He could hear the voices of excited future terrorist even from all the way in a dark hallway.

…it was showtime.

* * *

There were worse places to be stuck with a gorgeous girl. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of any right now.

Sun Wukong looked around at the other "recruits" that stood alongside him in neatly ordered rows. Most of the Faunus that were dressed in normal clothing—except for the Grimm masks on their faces, just like the one he had on—while the crowd of actual White Fang men and women watched them from only a few feet away. Almost every one of the recruits were talking, either to friends who had come with them or random people they had just met; and he could see several White Fang members smile. Not tauntingly or arrogantly, but genuinely smiling with what looked like nostalgia.

He knew that the people who joined the White Fang were, well, people, but he never thought that a recruitment rally for terrorist could have this kind of warm atmosphere—almost like the ones his team had when they were bonding after training. He never thought that there would be such… _comfort_ on every Faunus' face as they talked and waited for the chance to be recruited into a terrorist organization.

Then again…

As inconspicuously as he could, he glanced to the side. And he saw Blake, amber eyes covered by a Grimm mask, staring ahead at the raised stage near the back of the warehouse—and the huge black tarp that covered _something_ at the center of the stage which easily took up half the space.

…he guessed even terrorist organizations couldn't always be intimidating and frightening; how else could they get genuinely good and amazing people to stay for so long otherwise?

"What is it?"

Without even turning her head, Black suddenly spoke up, voice a whisper. And he knew her words were directed right at him; it wasn't like there were many other options.

Crap. He thought he'd been discreet with his staring. He had to think of something to say. Fast.

"Just…"

He trailed off for a moment, voice just as quiet as Blake's but still loud enough to be heard even with all the talking around them. And after a second, he thought of something to say. Something that had honestly been bothering him since they first saw this warehouse.

"I'm…guessing you've been to a couple of these rallies before, right?"

He really hoped he wasn't putting his foot in his mouth right now. He still didn't quite know what kind of questions were considered "off limits" to Blake.

"Yeah. Why?"

If Blake was in any way bothered by his words, he couldn't tell. Her voice was just as dry as always, little to no emotion whatsoever in her words.

"…Are they usually _this_ guarded?"

He wasn't a terrorist—and was very much glad about that fact—but some of the security he and Blake had encountered just seemed excessive. Before they had entered the building, there had been guards fully armed standing right in front of the entrance. Two of the guards had searched every possible recruit before they entered, including him and Blake; but because of the nature of their weapons, it hadn't been too hard to hide them on their bodies.

But even after that, the hallways they had been through had a guard at the start and at the end of every junction; each one had been armed just as much as guards at the entrance. And in the massive room they now stood in, he saw dozens of guards on several different catwalks hanging from the ceiling; looking down at them with their weapons clenched tightly in their hands. The only people that weren't armed were the crowd of White Fang members standing next to the recruits, and he had a feeling the only reason they weren't was so that they didn't scare off any future terrorist.

All of that security for what was just a rally seemed…excessive.

Blake didn't respond right away to his words. She only turned her head left and right, and he was pretty sure she was looking at the guards.

"No. They aren't."

Blake's words were curt and low.

"This is…strange. The White Fang have never had this kind of security for just a rally before."

He could almost see her eyes narrow behind her Grimm mask.

"It's like they're expecting something to go wrong."

That…did not sound good.

He glanced around at the guards above them. He was kinda sure that the guards weren't for him and Blake—because there was no way these guys could know they were coming—but the fact that there were about a hundred guards spread throughout the warehouse made things a lot harder. Sure, alone any of these terrorists weren't exactly a threat. But with this many armed and ready, if something were to go wrong and he and Blake had to make a break for it, they experience some problems.

Namely, getting shot so many times that their Aura would be completely depleted and then getting blasted _without_ a protective shield around their bodies.

He would very much like to avoid that option if he could.

"So…what happens if we need to book it?"

"It shouldn't come to that. To everyone here, we're just eager recruits wanting to join the White Fang."

Blake slowly looked over her shoulder.

"But, if it does, there's a window on the wall we could use to escape."

He followed Blake's gaze and saw a large glass window on the wall all the way at the back of the room, just low enough where he was sure he could make the jump.

"What about the guards outside?"

"They'll be distracted by the glass hitting them, and after that, it shouldn't be too hard to either fight them off or run away."

It was somewhat relieving to hear that they did actually have an exit strategy. But only somewhat. Because there were still a lot of things that could go wrong if things did go south.

He once again looked up, and the guards high above them continued to pace around on the catwalks. Seriously, why exactly were there so many guards for a rally? It was like they thought that someone might try and attack them and they sent all these people as a defense. Maybe they thought the police or Huntsman would show up? Wait no, that couldn't be it; because if the White Fang did think that, why would they bother holding a rally? It would be a waste to essentially give up so many men in what would be a pointless fight.

It almost felt like they sent all these extra men and weapons just in case. Just in case someone did try something, they would be ready. But, why would they go to such lengths for a rally?

He stared at the huge… _thing_ that was covered by the black tarp with the White Fang logo near the top.

…Could it have something to do with-?

From behind the tarp, someone stepped out. It was another White Fang member, but he was different. He had way more muscles than he had seen from anyone from the White Fang, black tattoos that stretched across his left forearm, and had on a Grimm mask that covered his entire face.

"Lieutenant."

He turned his head and saw Blake frown, shoulders tensing.

"Who?"

"He's the right-hand man of Ad—I-I mean the leader of Vale's White Fang branch."

He blinked. Did Blake just…stutter? That couldn't mean anything good.

"So…is this guy bad news?"

"It depends."

"On?"

Blake followed the Lieutenant's every move.

"If his leader's here with him."

He never heard Blake sound so serious before. And…it could've just been his imagination, but he thought he heard something else in her voice; something tiny, but still there. Something that kinda sounded like fea-.

"Thank you all for coming!"

The chattering voices around them quickly began to die down as the Lieutenant's shout echoed throughout the room.

"I am pleased to see so many faces here; both new and familiar! It is because of people like you, people who will no longer take injustice after injustice in silence, that the White Fang has prospered so much! You have my thanks for finally taking the first step in getting back against those vile humans who have made us suffer for so long!"

Everyone around him and Blake were suddenly cheering, some even jumping where they stood as they screamed. And he suddenly saw why so many people were swayed to the White Fang's side. Because if they had guys like this lieutenant—guys who spoke every word of propaganda with passion that roared throughout his voice—then it would be easy to convince victims of racism and prejudices to join their cause.

No matter how destructive it may be.

"But tonight, I am not just here to welcome my new brothers and sisters! Tonight, I am here to show you all how the White Fang will bring change to the corrupt society we live in!"

More cheers erupted everywhere. And from behind the tarp, someone else stepped out.

"And to do that, I've brought a special comrade with me. "

He instantly recognized that cane. The confident way in which he walked across the stage. That oh-so-smug look on his face.

"He is the key to obtaining what we have fought for so long for."

Roman Torchwick looked at the suddenly speechless crowd of Faunus—at least, the possible recruits were—that hated his guts just a few feet away from him with a big grin.

"I present to you…Roman Torchwick!"

The moment the Lieutenant finished speaking, the entire crowd of possible recruits and full-fledged members started to boo Torchwick. And he was one of them. He was supposed to fit in, after all.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Blake staring at him; and even with her mask, he could imagine the exasperated look on her face that basically said "really?"

The crowd continued to boo, and Roman's grin never once faltered as he walked to the center of the stage; right next to the Lieutenant, who held out a hand at the crowd. Slowly, the Faunus around him stopped booing, and the Lieutenant spoke again.

"Please, let the human speak. All will make sense once you hear what he has to say."

With that, the Lieutenant took a few steps backward as Torchwick turned his head towards him.

"Thanks for the introduction. But it looks like it wasn't needed."

Torchwick spread his arms wide before shouting.

"You all know who I am, right!?"

The crowd once again booed. And once again, he joined in.

This time, Blake elbowed somewhat harshly in his ribs. His booing came to an abrupt end as he coughed, turning to look at Blake.

"Focus, Sun."

Her tone wasn't quite scolding, but it was _very_ stern. He quickly gave her an apologetic smile.

"What's a human even doing here!?"

From a few feet in front of him, a deer Faunus somehow had managed to shout over the roar of boos. And the moment the crowd heard her, they immediately started shouting similar things at Torchwick.

Who still smiled and still held his arms out as a crowd of very angry Faunus shouted how much they hated him. He kept smiling as the Lieutenant once again held out his hand and signaled the crowd to be silent. It took longer than before, but eventually, everything went quiet.

Until Torchwick spoke up again.

"You done? Good."

Torchwick suddenly lifted his cane and pointed at the deer Faunus who spoke up.

"Now, that was an excellent question, _dearie._ "

Wow, he wasn't even trying not to be an ass. He saw the deer Faunus bristle and about to shout something, but Torchwick interrupted her.

"I'll be the first to admit it: humans. Are. The worse."

That got the crowd's attention. The only response to Torchwick's words was confused muttering as the "gentleman thief" began to pace on the edge of the stage; pointing a finger at himself.

"Case in point. So I understand why you love to see us locked away, or better yet, killed."

…Okay, was Torchwick going somewhere with this? Because right now, he wasn't really getting what Torchwick was-.

He heard something coming from his left; it was a small, almost inaudible sound but it still reached his ears. And then he felt something brush against his cheek.

He turned his head to where he heard the sound and felt the brushing sensation, but he saw nothing. Huh. That was…kinda weird. Did he just imagine-?

"But, before you take out your claws, I would like to mention the fact that you and I share a common enemy."

He saw Torchwick tap his cane a few times on the edge of the stage before pointing up at the ceiling.

"The ones in control. The people pulling the strings. The dirty, rotten, humans that run our kingdoms."

Around him, he could saw some of the Faunus actually grow contemplative at his words; some even muttered agreements. Even the actual White Fang members seemed to take a moment to consider what Torchwick was saying.

Okay, he'd give the asshole this. He knew how to work a crowd. Which, in hindsight shouldn't be surprising considering just how much he loved to gloat and-.

There it was again, that tiny sound that came from his left. He turned his head and once again saw nothing. He frowned as his eyes glanced from side to side. He was sure that he didn't imagine the sound; not after hearing it twice in a row.

Wait, make that three times. Because now, he was hearing it again, this time even louder than before. It was starting to sound like some kind of…buzzing?

"-and schools. They're the ones responsible for your lot in life."

Some people started to cheer at Torchwick's word; words that he was having trouble focusing on. That sound was starting to get annoying, and he still couldn't find where it was coming from. He constantly felt something touching his skin, saw what looked like a black speck appear in his vision before quickly disappearing, but no matter where he looked, nothing was there.

And the sound just. Got. Louder.

"-pests that need to be dealt with."

The buzzing was getting so bad that he was actually starting to have trouble hearing what Torchwick was saying. As he kept failing to see just what was flying around him—because that was the only way he could explain how he couldn't find it— the frustration within him steadily rose. His squinted his eyes and turned his head in every direction, but he didn't-.

Wait.

He saw something. Right on the edge of his vision, he saw something…climbing on his cheek; just a few inches away from the corner of his Grimm mask. Something black with tiny legs and thin wings and-.

Oh, it was a fly. A regular, tiny horsefly. He…probably should've realized that a lot sooner. But, now that he found the source of that noise, he could put a stop to it.

Slowly, he raised his left hand. The fly was still in the exact same spot on his cheek, begging him to crush it after all the annoyance it had caused him. And so long as he didn't miss, the fly would-.

"Thankfully for you, I'm the best exterminator around."

Wait, what was that?

Just as he was about to smack the fly, Torchwick's words made him pause. He looked up and saw the man's grin grow just as he snapped his fingers.

The Lieutenant walked up to the large thing on the stage and grabbed a part of the tarp covering it with a single hand. With a quick, strong, tug, the tarp came off, revealing what was underneath. The crowd gasped.

And his eyes widened as he saw the _giant robot_ standing in the center of the stage. It was a huge bipedal metal monster that was easily five times his height; maybe even bigger than that. It had large guns attached to the front of its rectangle-shaped arms, what looked like rocket launches just peaking above its back, and a metal hull that-.

The fly on his cheek bit him, interrupting his shock and awe over the robot and actually stinging him a bit.

Without even a moment's hesitation, and a slight growl, he smacked his hand against his cheek.

* * *

Really, sometimes he shocked himself with just how good he was at talking.

Roman Torchwick watched as the crowd that hated his guts stood in awe at the Atlesian Paladin. With barely any effort, he redirected the animals' anger towards society itself, made them think that he was on their side, and now had them listening to his every word.

Really, he deserved a raise; if he was actually getting paid, that is. He could already see how this would end. The White Fang would get more cannon fodder here than they had ever gotten before thanks to his eloquent words, and the current cannon fodder would see how staying with their fanatical "friends" was a swell idea since they now had rather big guns to play with. And, if they still didn't feel like staying, well, the giant mech-suit behind him should make it clear just how much power both he and the White Fang had.

And if they had the power to capture high-tech like this, how easy would it be for them to put down a little runaway?

His grin grew, just like the silence. He slowly opened his mouth, the words for his flawless speech already on his tongue and eager to go. When he was finished speaking, the only sound in this little auditorium would be the energetic cries of-.

"Ow!"

Ow, yes, that would be what these animals would shout as—wait a minute.

Ow?

He blinked as he turned his head to where he heard that sudden shout of pain. And it didn't take him long to find out where it came from. Both because of just how quiet it had been a moment before, and because literally everyone in the crowd turned towards the direction of the voice.

Near the middle of the possible recruits, he saw a man rubbing his cheek, head bowed to the left and making it hard to see his face; not at all helped by the poor lighting in this place. Next to the man was a girl that sated at the possible future mook with an open mouth. The girl had long black hair, a grim mask on her pale face and…cat ears.

His eyes narrowed.

Cat ears. Pale skin. Long black hair. Characteristics he had seen before. Characteristics that were _very_ familiar.

The man next to the woman groaned as he lifted his head up.

And he saw that the man had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. And a face that he instantly recognized.

And as the man suddenly realized how he had the entire crowds' attention—eyes now wide as his head swiveled in every direction— he turned back to the monkey's little girlfriend.

His little, cat girlfriend that was staring right at him—but even with that mask on her face, he knew her amber eyes were wide.

His lips moved into a wide smile.

Well, well, well. Looked like some baby Huntsman and Huntresses had wandered a bit too far from Beacon. And being the responsible citizen he was, he supposed he should send them back home safely.

In a coffin, of course.

He was just about to shout. Only one second away from telling the recruits around those brats to dogpile on them and telling the guards to aim their guns at those kids before they tried something. But before any words could leave his mouth, another sound echoed throughout the room.

The sound of someone once again yelping in pain.

He blinked again as the crowd turned towards the source of the shout. A gopher-like animal—as in a man that had shaggy hair and one large, very sharp front tooth—had his head bowed forward as he rubbed the back of it; like he had been struck there.

And then there was another cry. This time it was from the actual members of the White Fang. He whirled his head and saw one of the grunts in the middle stagger backward, one hand wrapped around his gut, before he crashed into the cannon fodder behind him as they all fell to the ground.

And then there was _another_ yelp. Followed by a shriek. Followed by a loud "shit!" screamed at the top of someone's lungs.

He blinked again as he watched more and more animals suddenly crying out in pain; some of them falling on their asses, some stumbling before colliding with a large group of fellow terrorist, and some whirling around as if they had just received the biggest slap of their life.

And then came the anger. The moment some of the animals regained their bearing, they started accusing the other of striking them. Shouts of "the hell's your problem" or "you wanna go?!" and, his personal favorite, "did you just smack my _ass!?"_ rumbled through the once silent auditorium. Even with the Chihuahua suddenly right by his side as he shouted for everyone to calm down, the other animals in the room looked ready to beat the shit out of each other.

And while watching animals of all shapes and sizes brawl would've been amusing, other things currently needed his attention. Namely, the little brats that were about to meet their end.

His eyes darted across the auditorium, searching for the two he had lost in the sudden chaos. And after a few seconds, he found them trying to get their way through the thick crowd as quickly as they could.

Kitty-cat turned around for a moment, Grimm mask long gone, and stared right at his face. Her head then whirled to the right towards one of the columns near the stage.

The column that had the black fuse box for the lights.

He saw her reach for her thighs, where she kept her weapon holster if his memory served right, and he shouted at the White Fang grunts to stop them.

Or, he would've, anyway.

Because once again, just as he was about to speak up, something interrupted him. This time, it was the light suddenly going out.

Even though the cat-girl had yet to even fire off her weapons.

His eyes widened slightly as his head looked towards the lights above. But he couldn't see anything; thick, inky black was the only thing that his eyes could take in. And the sudden darkness that enveloped every inch of the room made everyone present pause.

He quickly raised Melodic Cudgel, the end now pointed out and the lid sliding open as he got into a loose stance. His eyes darted left and right as the silence in the room became far more unsettling than it was before.

…Shit. Someone else was here. Someone who was going to do _something_ while the lights were out. But they were prepared. In the darkness he could hear every single grunt in the room unsheathe their swords of cock their guns; and since these animals could see even better in the dark, nothing could possibly get by their sight. Neo had been using her Semblance since this rally started, so even if someone did get by the cannon fodder, she could make up for their mistakes.

He let out a long breath.

The only question he had was if they were dealing with the same bastard stealing from him or the bastard that had put Mercury and Emerald into-.

He heard something. Something slicing—no wait, falling, through the air. It was impossible not to hear in the smothering silence, and his head whirled in every direction as he tried to find where that sound was coming from.

And then he felt something crash into his head. He let out a curse and whatever the hell hit him fell over his hat and into his view. He couldn't make out any distinct details of the object—all he saw was that whatever hit him was somehow less dark than everything else around him—but when he squinted his eyes, the shape almost looked famila-.

Suddenly, the object started to glow white; the darkness faded.

And in a literal second, the glow turned into a pulsating assault of intense light that burned his retinas. And as he screamed from the burning pain his eyes were in, as he stumbled backwards and almost fell down, there was one thought going through his mind.

A God damn _flashbang!?_ How!?

He continued to stumble as his hands now covered his eyes, his screaming not even remotely dwindling. The sound that _flashbang_ —who in the hell could've thrown that thing!?—made was like a dozen little explosion going off right in his ear canal. But even with the damn bells ringing within the very depths of his head, he still heard it.

He heard what sounded like _hundreds_ of similar explosions going off around him. He heard faint screams, ones that would get louder as the buzzing faded, reach his damaged ears as his back crashed into the Paladin behind him, his screams coming to an abrupt end. He quickly leaned against the robot to support himself as he shook his head. Thankfully, when one gets hit by flashbangs time after time, their bodies learn how to quickly overcome the damn ringing and blindness rather quickly. Which was why the whiteness was already fading and the buzzing started to decrease in volume.

And why he could hear someone screaming their head off from above. He looked up and saw that on the catwalks one of the White Fang grunts firing his gun over and over again—the small burst of light the came from each shot somewhat illuminating the space he stood on—as _something_ rapidly approached him; not even slightly slowed down by the hail of bullets. Something covered in the same darkness around them, making any features it had impossible to see.

And when the dark figure was suddenly in front of the grunt, seeming to fly through the air in an instant, the bullets stopped firing. And there was a shrill shriek.

He only just now noticed how none of the other animals on the catwalk were firing their weapons or making even the tiniest movement.

Oh, shit.

With somewhat shaky arms, he quickly pushed off the Paladin and raised Melodic Cudgel, taking aim at the blur on the catwalk.

And once again, he felt something hit his head.

This time though, he was smart enough to cross his arms over his face and clench his eyes as tightly as he could. He heard explosion after explosion come from the crowd of animals as their screams echoed throughout the entire building.

And then he was once again assaulted by bright white. The ringing was back, and he was no longer able to keep his balance as he stumbled before crashing face-first onto the ground.

God…damn it.

He had no idea how long he laid on the cold metal of the stage, but he had to get up. Now. He resisted the urge to vomit as he placed two hands on the ground. Slowly, he pushed up, and slowly, his vision started to return; adjusting to the darkness quickly. He could make out the vague outline of the Chihuahua laying on the ground a few feet away from him as the man let out a loud groan. He saw another shape farther away, this one smaller than the animal and kneeling on the ground—it took him a moment to realize that was Neo.

And he saw _something_ standing near the Paladin. He saw the same shadow-covered figure suddenly standing only a few feet away from the giant mech-suit. The blur had what looked like a hand placed right on top of the robot's legs.

And then the blur slowly started to walk away from the mech-suit as it jumped off the stage and into the crowd. He watched as the figure made its way deeper and deeper into the groaning mass of darkness-covered animals that were either laying on the ground or shakily wobbling to their feet. He never lost track of the blur though, always making sure to follow its every movement.

But then the lights were suddenly back on and he was suddenly blind again. He clenched his eyes and let out a hiss before he quickly realized that he had just lost sight of the blur.

With some effort, he was able to get back to his feet. Slowly opening his eyes, he took in everything around him in an instant.

He took in the crowd of Faunus, some vomiting as they laid on the ground and others barely even able to stay standing.

He saw the dead bodies of the White Fang grunts on the catwalks—each one practically drowning in a pool of their own blood that dripped to the ground below.

He saw Neo rubbing her head with one hand as she shakily stood up.

And all the way in the back leaning against the metal entrance doors, he saw the blur. The blur that was now a man with a deep blue suit that exposed his chest. Someone who wore white gloves with green ladybug emblems at the center.

The man who had beaten Mercury and Emerald was only hundreds of feet away from him. Though, there was one thing he noticed that Mercury never mentioned. The man wore a hat that, with his head tilted as it was now, covered his face in shadows. A hat that almost looked exactly like his ow-.

He stopped thinking. Slowly, he brought a hand over his head. And all he felt was his perfectly combed orange-hair.

He was suddenly growling. His lips were in snarl, and once again Melodic Cudgel was raised right at the bastard who had _stolen his hat!_

No one— _no one—_ messed with his wardrobe!

"Who the hell do you think you are!?"

His furious shout attracted the attention of any animal that was still conscious—including kitty-cat as her head whipped to the doors and saw the bastard who, if his ears were actually working right, _laughed_ as his fingers grabbed the edges of _his_ hat.

"Why, isn't it obvious, Mr. Torchwick?"

The bastard's voice was smoother than velvet; without even shouting, it traveled throughout the room like a soft breeze. There was no worry or concern or even a drop of fear anywhere in his words.

And that only made him angrier as he was just a hairs-width away from firing.

"I'm the man that's been robbing you blind."

The bastard pointed a finger to something a few feet to the left of him. With a glance, he saw nothing there but Neo and the animal. He didn't know what this bastard was up to, but he wasn't-.

He froze.

The only things he had seen…were Neo and the animal.

Slowly, he turned his head.

And the Atelsian Paladin, the _twenty-five feet tall_ robot, was gone. He had literally just seen it, but somehow, someway, it had vanished.

"What the-?"

The sound of metal screeching open made him stop talking. He whipped his head back to the bastard.

And he saw the bastard had taken of _his_ hat, now holding it with one arm that he held out to the side as the other one pushed the door open. He saw the man's blue eyes—eyes that were both calm as the ocean yet harder than diamonds—staring right at him.

And he also saw the man's lips in _smuggest_ grin he had ever seen in his life.

"Until we meet again, Mr. Torchwick."

And with that, the man walked through the doors and gently closed them behind him.

Leaving him shaking with rage. This bastard…had stolen from him. Again. This time, from literally right in front of him _and_ Neo, and made them look like _chumps._

Slowly, he turned towards his trusted partner.

And Neo had on the most insulted expression he had ever seen from her as she turned to stare at him. Just by looking at one another, they both knew what they were had to do. But still, he said it out loud anyway.

"Neo…"

His voice was far too quiet for the rage that consumed it, but he didn't really care right now. He slowly walked across the stage towards his partner, whose eyes were growing with fury as they moved into a smoldering glare.

"Why don't we go teach this son of a bitch why were the best criminals in town?"

Neo nodded her head, fist clenched at her sides.

"Well then, what are we waiting-?"

He didn't finish as something slammed into his head from above. His eyes went wide—just like Neo's—as a flashbang was suddenly floating between them.

And as another horrible, agonizing, and all around God-awful explosion of light erupted in front of him…in all honesty, he wasn't even mad.

 **"** **YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD, GOLDIE!"**

He was just _pissed._

 _To Be Continued~_


	6. Highway to Hell

**_Chapter 5: Highway to Hell_**

Holy...shit.

His head was ringing. There was some kind of burning smell in his nose, and he suddenly felt like vomiting. Every one of his limbs felt numb, refusing to move even an inch; his eyelids were so heavy that he couldn't open them in the slightest.

Just...shit. He had been hit with flashbangs before, but he had never been hit by a hundred of them in about ten seconds. It took a special kind of jackass to use flashbangs on _Faunus_ in _complete darkness;_ Aura could protect him from many things, but intense sound and lights weren't among them. It was the first time he ever hated the fact that he had night vision.

He felt his shins scrapping along the ground, but even with how hard it was to even think, he still had enough awareness to properly focus his Aura to avoid any cuts.

God damn it, when he got out of here—wherever _here_ was, because he kinda forgot what he was doing after flashing number twenty erupted right in his face—he would invest in the best pair of earplugs possible. And noseplugs. Because the smell hitting him was just—.

Wait.

He...he couldn't move his own body. So, why were his shins scrapping against the ground?

He groaned, trying his best to get his eyes open. When he really focused, he felt something grabbing, what he thought, were his arms. And considering how he felt gravel scratching against his legs every other second, he was pretty sure that someone was dragging him. But, who would—?

"—Un?"

Through the noise filling his head, he heard a _really_ familiar voice. A voice that belonged to someone who he had come with to see a...rally? Yeah, a rally.

Slowly, he finally managed to get his eyes to open. His vision was blurry, but he could make out some kind of shape hovering above him.

What exactly was the rally about? It had something to do with...an asshole? No, wait, an asshole had been a speaker at the rally for...

The White Fang.

"Sun!?"

The voice got louder as the ringing faded. And he could now hear the worry in the voice's words as the grip on his arms got tighter.

He was at a rally for the White Fang to try and figure out what they were planning. And he had gone along with...

The blurriness was all but gone now as the shape above him got clearer. He could now see an absolutely gorgeous face and bright amber eyes looking down at him.

...a friend.

He suddenly remembered everything, from Torchwick spotting them to the man with hair even more golden than his own standing by the exit, and his eyes went wide. He instantly got out of Blake's grasp and jumped up. But the moment he landed on his feet, he stumbled backward, hitting a wall behind him.

"Bl-Blake what's going—?!"

He didn't finish as pain erupted in his head again, and he let out a loud groan, bringing one hand up to rub his left temple.

"Sun, wait!"

Blake was in front of him in an instant, her eyes looking him over.

"You...are you...feeling alright?"

Blake was speaking rather slowly; like she was having trouble getting the words out. And it was only now that he noticed that her eyes were a bit red; and how there was a bit of sweat rolling down her face.

Oh, right. Blake had been hit by the flashbangs as well. She must've been just as disoriented as he was right now.

"Ye-yeah. I'm good, Blake."

He shook his head, trying to get rid of that static-like noise still lingering in his ears.

"Dizzy, but...but I can still move."

He quickly looked around. He was no longer in the room full of White Fang members and possible recruits, but instead, in one of the many wide corridors that made up the warehouse. When he looked to his right, he saw the door that led to the room they had just been in was barricaded; it looked like someone had detonated the ceiling just above the door, several pounds of debris now stacked right in front of it.

"What...what happened?"

"I dragged you out here after Gold—after that man pissed off Torchwick."

Oh, was that why he could hear someone screaming? Also, did Blake just curse?

He watched as Blake shook her head, rubbing a hand on her forehead as she looked towards the barricaded door.

"They...they shouldn't be able to get out of their anytime soon. But..."

Slowly, Blake turned her head towards the end of the corridor, eyes narrowing.

"We have to go after him."

He blinked.

"Wait, why?"

Blake turned back to face him.

"Because he just stole a Paladin from the White Fang."

Wait, what?

"When—how could someone—?"

"I don't know how he did it, but the Paladin just... _vanished_ when the lights came back on."

He was starting to remember now. While he had been on the floor after the volley of flashbangs, his dazed eyes had seen that the giant robot had somehow left the stage it was just on.

"You think that guy did it?"

"Who else could it be?"

"Good point."

He let out another groan, and Blake's eyes narrowed.

"Whoever that man is, he now has his hands on advanced Atlas tech. So we have to—."

Blake didn't finish as she suddenly let out a groan, stumbling a bit. Her cat-ears twitched as she gripped the side of her head with one hand.

"W-we have to get it back."

His lips moved into a concerned frown.

"Blake? You good?"

"Fi-fine."

"You sure—?"

"We're wasting time!"

At the exact moment Blake finished shouting, a loud boom suddenly echoed throughout the corridor; turning his head, he saw that the barricade of debris was shaking slightly.

"We have to find out who was willing to steal from the White Fang before he gets out!"

Not even a second later, Blake was running, Gambol Shroud in its gun form as she gripped it tightly with her right hand. And with a quick shake of his head, he followed her, only a few steps behind. He reached for his back with one hand, lifted his shirt, and grabbed the collapsed forms of his weapons. With several quick, precise flicks of his wrist, Ryui Bang and Jingu Bang shifted into their nunchuck-shotgun forms, one pair flying over his head and landing in his awaiting right hand.

Now armed with his trusted weapons in his hands, he turned left with Blake once they reached the end of the hall and entered a new corridor. And...there wasn't anyone here.

He blinked. Because that...shouldn't be right. The last time he and Blake came down this hall, there had been two guards stationed at the junction, so where—?

As he ran, his foot hit something wet, and he slipped slightly. His stride now thrown off, he stumbled, but thankfully, he was quickly able to balance himself out without faceplanting. He whirled his head behind him to see what he just stepped on.

Even though the hallways were so dark, with his night vision, he could easily see the thick puddle of blood on the floor. And as his eyes followed the thick red liquid to its source, he saw a White Fang grunt.

A grunt with a large hole where his mouth should be.

 _That_ got him to stop dead in his tracks. A few feet ahead of him, he saw Blake doing the same, eyes widening.

It wasn't the first time he saw a dead body—you didn't grow up in Vacuo without seeing a corpse every now and then. But it had been a _long_ time since he had seen a corpse disfigured like _this._ Because when he said this guy had a hole in his mouth, he might have been _underselling_ just how damaged the lower part of face was; it was like someone shoved the biggest Fire-Dust grenade they had and detonated it right in the poor guy's teeth. Blood was just oozing from what was left of his mouth by the gallon. And with half of the man's Grimm mask destroyed, he could see the wide, bulging right eye that leaked a single tear of blood down his face.

This guy had been just... _mutilated._

"He-help..."

A weak, incredibly raspy voice suddenly broke the silence in the corridor. He whirled around, just as Blake did, and saw that at the end of the hallway, crawling out from behind some kind of crate, was another White Fang grunt with long brown hair. And as she crawled, he saw that one of her arms had been completely cut off at the elbow.

She also had a knife lodged deeply into her neck; he honestly didn't even know how she was talking right now.

"Mo-mon..."

Even though the girl's voice was so weak, he could still hear the _terror_ strangling her every word. Her eyes were wide and radiated with so much fear he could almost feel it as the girl let out a bloody cough.

"Monster."

The moment she rasped out that one word, her head fell and hit the ground.

She didn't get back up.

He stared at the growing puddle of blood that surrounded the now dead White Fang girl. And the silence now seemed a lot colder than it had been a second ago.

Okay...whoever this guy was, he was not holding back. At all.

He swallowed slightly. He had never seen someone look so scared once in his life. And a _person_ had caused that fear—not a Grimm, just a single man. In an instant, whoever this guy was had suddenly gone from "jackass who blinded him" to "deadly."

Just who the hell were they-?

"Sun."

Blake's voice sounded far harsher than he had ever heard from her before. Slowly, he turned around.

And he saw the barely restrained rage within her expression. Her lips were in a deep, tight frown as she glared at the corpses in the hall.

"Lets. Go."

He saw Blake's features scrunch up with even more anger. Seeing these people die, even if they were her enemies and wanted her dead, was enraging for her. Blake wanted to stop the White Fang from hurting people, but that didn't mean she was okay with seeing them mutilated and left bleeding out; wasn't like he was fine with seeing someone suffer like _this_ either _._ It was probably taking everything Blake had to hold back her rage.

He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. The only thing he could think to do was look Blake right in her furious amber eyes. And after a moment, he simply nodded; it was the best response he could come up with.

Not wasting another second, Blake ran even faster than before, and he quickly followed. But as they ran, he heard something.

It sounded like someone screaming—and this time, he didn't think it was Roman.

Blake got even faster as they turned into a new hallway. But when they did, his eyes widened at what he saw.

There were even more bodies here. One had a katana lodged right into his chest, another had a large gash running down the center of her face, one man was missing his fingers and there was one whose entire face was reduced to nothing but bloody mush.

God damn...this was just...brutal.

He heard a soft hiss coming from Blake; he turned and saw Blake now sprinting through the corridor. And she only moved faster with every hall they entered.

Because each and every time they ran through a new corridor, there would be bodies—so many bodies. The halls he saw were stained red with blood, and the corpses scattered _everywhere_ had so many gashes or holes or missing limbs that each body started to look even more butchered than the last.

He felt a bit of vomit rushing up his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down. But when he did, he suddenly heard what sounded like bullets firing every second. And screams even louder than the last ones.

And amidst the terrified shouts echoing through the warehouse, he heard another hiss from Blake; this one fare harsher and full of anger.

They continued to run. If his memory was right, they were just one left turn away from getting to the last hallway that would lead them to the exit. And not even ten steps later, both of them entering one last corridor full of bodies and blood, he saw the large metal doors that led outside.

But as they ran, he heard screams coming from just outside.

"No, please-!"

The voice never finished whatever they were going to shout as some kind of cracking sound reached his ears.

They were twenty feet away from the door.

"Wait, don't-!"

Another voice, this one deep and masculine, suddenly shouted before just as quickly cutting himself off as another loud crack echoed.

Ten feet.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

When they finally reached the door, a female voice was screaming her head off. Without any hesitation, Blake kicked the door open, almost knocking it off its hinges, and jumped through it, Gambol Shroud pointed ahead. He was only a few steps behind her, jumping through the air and landing on the pavement outside.

And when he lifted his head up, he saw the blond guy standing just a few feet away from a White Fang girl with short white hair. The blond guy who was already throwing a punch as the girl let out another terrified scream.

"NO-!"

The blonde guy who effortlessly punched _through_ the girl's _chest_ like it was made of wet tissue paper and come _out_ the other side of her armor. Blood exploded into the air from the gaping hole the man had just made, and the white-haired girl let out a bloody cough.

And then, the man pulled his fist out of the girl's chest, and she fell face-first onto the ground with a dull thud. All while the man watched her fall with his deep-blue eyes.

His eye widened at what he saw. It wasn't just the fact that what the man did was easily the most brutal thing he had ever seen. It wasn't because of the man's strength that he couldn't help but stare—because he knew plenty of people who could _probably_ do the same thing.

It was because the man's eyes had not shown an ounce of emotion. There was no joy, no anger, no _anything._ They were just empty.

Blood dripped down the man's white-gloved fist and onto the pavement—none of it his own; and, now that he thought about it, that was somehow the only blood the man had on him.

He had never seen anyone look so...cold in his entire life. And he never thought anyone could be so emotionless when they were literally ending another person's life.

It was disturbing.

The man slowly looked away from the corpse and towards them, blue eyes narrowing.

He tensed.

And Blake let out a furious yell and fired Gambol Shroud without a moment's hesitation. Bullet after bullet rocketed through the air and headed right towards the man, and he knew each one would hit their mark. But as the bullets rapidly approached him, the man reached into his right pocket and pulled something out before slamming it to the ground. And the moment whatever he threw hit the pavement, there was a short ping sound as thick smoke burst out and completely covered the man from sight.

And when the bullets went through the smoke, he heard another sound coming from within it. It was like metal on metal scraping against each other, but somewhat less grating. He saw that from within the smoke the bullets jettisoning in every direction—he even had to duck his head to the right to avoid getting hit by one—and he realized that the man had deflected them. Somehow.

But he didn't have time to figure out how, because in the next second, something came flying out of the cloud of smoke and right towards them. And once he recognized what was coming, his eyes went wide before he closed them shut and hit the floor, Blake quickly doing the same.

He heard the flashbang collide with the door to the warehouse; and then he heard an, unfortunately, familiar bang exploding behind him. But this time, the burning white light wasn't as painful, and the noise wasn't nearly as deafening.

Which meant he could actually fight back this time.

Opening his eyes as fast as he could, he jumped from the ground and spun in the air; with a few quick flicks from both of his wrists, his nunchucks swung rapidly in precise wide arcs before he fired them right as they were swinging parallel to the other—bright yellow bursting from within the barrels of his guns. His vision was still blurry, but he could just make out that jackass' blonde hair from within the smoke, which was quickly fading away. His shotgun rounds would lack the oomph they would've had if he were closer, but they would still pack a punch.

If they had landed. Because the moment he fired, he saw the man jump high into the air and avoid his rounds just as they slammed into the spot the man had just been on; the pavement cracking and now full of holes.

As he landed back on the ground, shaking his head to get rid of the remaining blurriness, he watched as the man landed far away from him and on the curb of a nearby street. With Ryu Band and Jingu Bang clenched tightly in his fist, he quickly shot a glance at where Blake was and saw her getting up, weapons at the ready. But he did not miss the way her legs shook or the somewhat painful groan she let out.

That couldn't be good.

Before he could ask if Blake was alright, he heard an engine roaring. And from behind one of the buildings, a four-door car—black, slim, and with the windows completely tinted out—zoomed along the road before the wheels screeched as it came to a swift stop just a few feet behind the man.

"I will only say this once."

The man's voice was deep, but also, somewhat soft; somehow, he sounded confident yet at the same time reserved. But the man's words weren't what he was focusing on. Instead, he only stared into the man's blue eyes.

Eyes that were promising him _pain_ should he not listen to the man.

"Do not follow me."

And with that simple command—because there was no other way to describe the way he spoke those words—the man pulled his closed-fist back before swinging it forward, throwing multiple _things_ out of his hands that headed right for him and Blake. Things that kind of looked like—.

Oh, shit.

His eyes went wide. And he ran to the right before jumping over a dumpster and landed on the other side, taking cover as his back pressed against cold metal.

And a moment later, there were multiple explosions. Followed by intense heat burning the air around him.

How the hell did a man fit Fire-Dust grenades that big into his hand?!

Once he felt the heat die down, he quickly jumped from the ground and landed on top of the dumpster, already swinging his nunchucks and just about to fire.

But by the time he landed, the man was gone; the front of the warehouse had been charred black and the sound of wheels burning rubber echoed throughout the block. And then he realized that he didn't see Blake anywhere, who had been closer to the blast.

"Blake!? Blake!?"

"Over here!"

His shouts were quickly meant with a response from Blake. Whirling around, he saw Blake slowly rising from behind a set of trash cans near the warehouse's opposite end; he knew she was fast, but she must've been moving like a bullet to get so far away. He watched as Blake shook her head before she started to run towards the curb. He jumped off the dumpster and followed her—careful not to hit any of the corpses of the White Fang.

Once they were on the curb, they looked down the road where the man had gone. He saw there were more White Fang bodies near one of the intersections; they looked like they had been crushed by something going fast and not even stopping for a moment, bones jutting out from the skins and limbs bent at unnatural angles. He once again swallowed some vomit. Later, when things weren't so crazy, he would go to the nearest toilet and let loose everything he had eaten over the last two days. Because holy shit, this was just—.

"Sun."

He was immensely thankful that Blake spoke up. Because he now could focus on something else. Turning, he saw Blake staring at the corpse of the White Fang with narrowed eyes.

And when she spoke again, rage burned throughout her voice.

"We need to call the others."

* * *

Why her, why her, why her, why _her!?_

For the first time in, ever, honestly, Charlotte Sapphire regretted being a criminal. With her foot firmly pressed against the accelerator of her car, she turned down another intersection at sixty miles an hour.

She never thought it would be possible; she never thought there would ever be a day where she would honestly regret breaking the law every chance she got. But, here it was. And by God, it was fucking terrifying.

Up ahead, she saw there were a set of cars acting as a pseudo-barricade that looked just like her own car, save for the blood. And there were men and women standing near those cars on the street with clothes just like her own except for, once again, the blood on her's.

"Do not slow down."

The voice of her "passenger" from the backseat of her car was enough to make her fucking shiver uncontrollably; she had never heard anyone's voice, from her boss or even _his_ boss, make every word they said colder than a glacier in Atlas. She didn't stop shivering, but she did give her "passenger" a very shaky, very fearful nod. And in her rearview mirror, she could see his damn heartless eyes staring right into her soul.

Eyes that suddenly narrowed.

"Speed up."

She let out a strangled cry. And then, she slammed her foot as hard as she could on the accelerator and the engine screamed into the night. Her car was all but teleporting down the long stretch of concrete, and as she got closer to the blockade, she repeatedly bashed her hand against the horn. Everyone by the parked cars heard her frantic honking, turned, and then, she assumed, shat themselves.

Some of them had gotten out of the way by the time her front bumper _plowed_ through the barricade of cars like they were made of wood and not metal. But some hadn't been so lucky. She saw one man's foot get crushed to broken bones, another got clipped by one of the suddenly moving and out-of-control cars and sent him crashing into a mailbox.

And then there was the third one. A girl with long curly hair. A girl that had just stood perfectly still, frozen like a damn statue, as her car sped towards her.

A girl that had been hit full force by a car going over a hundred miles an hour. She saw the look of pure agony on the girl's face, saw the blood erupting from within her black suit, and then all she could hear was the most painful shriek she ever heard in her life and the girl went fucking flying over the roof of her car and out of sight.

The only thing left of the girl was a blood stain near the edge of her windshield and a pair of broken red-sunglasses caught in the center of her wipers.

Oh, hey, those looked just her's; right down to the cracks on them.

It was actually kinda funny. He. Hehehe.

Ha.

A crazed smile broke out across her face.

Oh good God, she was so fucking dead. As dead as that bitch she just killed and all the other poor fucks that she had literally run over ever since that bastard had forced her to be his personal chauffeur. And once she was done, the bastard was going to kill _her._ She should've never become a criminal. She should've just been a hooker like her mother—she had the tits for it. She should've never stolen that old fucker's car and gone on a joy ride; that way she would've learned about the thrill of police chasing her down. She should've never run away and practiced her driving skills until she became one of the best getaway drivers in Vale; that way Roman Torchwick never would've offered her a spot in his crew. That way she never would've seen this heartless jackass sitting in her backseat literally _rip out_ her bastard of an ex-boyfriend's heart with some kind of _fucking monster,_ and then command her to drive her to a rally she knew Torchiwck had kept under wraps, but that this jackass somehow knew about—.

"We are about to crash."

What?

Behind her glasses, she blinked, processing those calm words. And then she realized there was a pretty big building that seemed to be moving right towards her and—.

Her eyes widened. With a terrified scream, she whirled the wheel to the left and hit the breaks. Though, not literally; because then that would just lock up her front tires way to quickly and all but guarantee her car going through solid-brick. Instead, she steadily increased the pressure on her breaks as all of her cars weight transferred to the front; she then gently eased off her break once she saw she was moving in the direction she wanted, and slammed her foot onto the accelerator.

Momentum did its job, thank fucking God, and her car turned just in time to avoid speeding through the wall of some shitty apartment complex. Well, mostly. Because as her wheels screeched on top of the asphalt, the trunk got a bit to close the building and skidded along the wall—sparks flying through the air as the metal of her car shrieked from the impact.

But she had avoided crashing through a building. Her car continued to accelerate down the street before she turned at an intersection and entered a wide, open freeway with a long row of concrete barriers splitting the road down the middle. With several quick twists of her wheel and another burst of speed, her car sped into the leftmost lane, cutting off several cars that were forced to slow down slightly as they honked at her.

She relaxed back into her soft chair. Her car was going over sixty miles an hour, but with little traffic ahead of her, she wasn't in any danger so—.

"Excuse me."

Oh good fucking God, nevermind.

With her hands now trembling as they gripped the wheel, she glanced at the mirror. Her "passenger"—why the fuck he even bothered calling himself that, she didn't know—was glaring at her with those damn cold, empty blue eyes of his.

"What was that?"

There was no anger in his voice. No emotion whatsoever in any words he spoke.

And that only made her trembling worse.

"You were about to send us crashing through that building, were you not?"

The man leaned froward—well, as much as he could, anyway, since he was wearing a seatbelt. But that simple action, the less than an inch of space he moved to get closer to her, was enough to make her shriek.

"Tell me, was that an accident, or were you just trying to kill us both?"

She suddenly felt like death was only a hairs-width away from stealing her soul.

"O-of cou-course not, s-sir!"

She was stuttering. She didn't bother trying to hide any of the terror in her voice; not when she was doing her best to not piss herself from just looking at her "passenger" in the rearview mirror.

"Then tell me: how exactly did you miss a building that even an elderly grandma with a retinal disease could see?"

Okay, that insult was just excessive—and harsh. But she wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud; not that she could, considering it was taking everything she had to breathe through the fear choking her throat.

"I-I ju-just...missed it."

Oh God, why the fuck would she say that?! Like hell this guy was just gonna except that pathetic excuse!

As she continued to speed down the freeway, she saw a sign from the corner of her eye saying that the exit to the highway was coming up. And even though fear consumed every inch of her body, she somehow remembered that her "passenger" had ordered her to get to the highway as quickly as possible. But before she could slide into the right lane, the terrifying man sitting in the center seat of her car spoke up.

"Did I make a mistake?"

She saw her "passenger" raising an eyebrow at her. And that was enough for a bit of confusion to rise within her; right in the middle of all her fear.

"Wha-wha—?"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

The man's voice instantly turned deadly, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"You heard what I said."

Her "passenger" narrowed his eyes.

"I thought that my driver was one Charlotte Sapphire, the self-proclaimed 'best damn getaway driver that carrot-top bastard has ever had.'"

How the hell did he know that?

"But are you telling me you aren't her?"

Somehow, she got her mouth working again as she spoke.

"I-I—that's me, si-sir, but—."

"Are you not the same woman who drove me to a White Fang rally and who I told to wait for me while I stole an Atlas military mech-suit from literally right in front of your boss."

"Ye-yeah, I—."

"Are you not the same woman who, without even a moment's hesitation after receiving my message on your scroll, sped to my location and is currently helping me escape from not only your boss but also the biggest terrorist organization on the planet?"

Well, she only picked him up so fast because he said there was a bomb in her car that would go off if she tried to ditch him—and she way to scared to see if he was bluffing. But, that wasn't really what she was focused on.

Because what currently had her undivided attention was that the man's voice was no longer cold, and the fact that he was speaking with pure passion lodged into his every word.

"Unless my memory has suddenly corroded, I believe that the woman I am currently staring at is still the same skilled driver that has been doing an excellent job of aiding my escape."

She blinked. She never heard anyone speak so...sincerely to her before. And, even if those words and emotions were coming from a guy who literally killed a man in front of her, it felt kinda...nice.

"So far, my amazing driver has shown excellent reflexes under pressure and intense focus that I have honestly never seen from just a mere 'lackey,' as Roman Torchwick would refer to you as."

Yeah well, her boss was kind of an asshole like that. But—wait, did he just say she was amazing?

"When I decided you would assist me, I thought I saw a woman who had the determination, the _resolve_ , to get the job done no matter how difficult. Someone that _would_ get the job done. And once this job is completed, Charlotte Sapphire, you will never have to worry about me again."

Calm blue eyes were staring right at her. But she didn't see how the hell that was true considering the fact that-.

"Once you drop me off, you can just pretend these events never happened and proceed with your life."

There was something in his voice that made her pause. An emotion that she honestly had a hard time placing. There was some kind of warmth coming from her "passenger's" voice, and it almost sounded like—like he didn't want to hurt her; even though he had literally threatened her to drive him and basically betray her boss. And if wasn't for the fact that she was sure he would kill her when this was all over, then she might've actually—.

"Remember, I am just your passenger."

What?

She blinked again, and there was no way the man couldn't see the confusion on her face.

"I am not your new boss or your murderer: I am just a passenger trying to get from one point to the next."

The man eyes...actually softened a bit; from this distance, it was hard not to notice.

"I will not harm you so long as you do as I say."

That sounded almost too good to be true. But, there was something in his voice, something in the way he spoke that made her almost believe him.

"So, let me ask you this, Charlotte Sapphire."

The look on his face was gone now, and his features hardened as he spoke.

"Are you not the best driver in Vale? Are you not the one who successfully aided your comrades in over a hundred different heists in the last year alone?

She couldn't look away from her "passenger's" calm blue eyes. Eyes that somehow made her feel safe.

"Are you not the one who will get me out of here alive?"

Beneath the sharpness of her "passengers" voice, there was a kind of...rough kindness within it, she couldn't explain what she heard in any other way, that made her feel something other than fear. The severity in his voice was impossible to miss, but she found it also sounded a bit comforting—somehow.

Her arms started to tremble less. With a glance, she saw that the exit to the highway was coming up.

She looked back at her passenger. She tried to see if he was lying, but, it honestly looked like he was being genuine.

She looked at the road ahead.

Shook her head—blue ponytail whipping left and right as she let out a long breath.

And then, she whirled the steering wheel to the right.

"Yes—!"

Her car dashed to the furthermost right lane, almost hitting several cars in the process as they honked as loudly as they could; but she ignored them. Once she entered the entrance ramp lane, she slammed on the accelerator, and her car moved along with the steep curve at high speeds.

"—I am!"

Her wheels were roaring as they ascended up the ramp. Without slowing down in the slightest, her car reached the top of the ramp, sped down the lane, and then she accelerated into the mess of traffic just to the left of her—she was now surrounded by the concrete walls and electric blue barricades on either side of the highway. Loud honks burst from every car she cut off, but she could care less as she settled into the centermost lane before letting her car soar across the concrete.

Going well over one hundred miles an hour, she glanced at the rearview mirror.

And her passenger was giving her a small grin.

"I thought so."

Her lips moved into a somewhat shaky smile in response before her eyes returned to the road.

She could do this. Her passenger was right, it was just a job. It was no different than that time she had to drive a car full of injured idiots she worked with back to their safehouse while a bunch of leather-fetish motorcycle assholes shot at her. Except this time was slightly better, since she wasn't bleeding all over the wheel, but slightly worse because her passenger might order her to run over even more people she worked with.

But if she could just get this guy to wherever the hell he wanted to go—he hadn't really told her much besides "get to the highway and lose anyone following us"— and make sure no one saw her face, then all that was left was for her to ditch her car and pretend that none of this shit ever happened.

The man had been serious when he said he would let her go, so all she had to do was just drop him off, and then, she would live.

She let out another breath. She focused only on the vibrations her car made as it sped down the highway. The way every car around her seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. The sounds of her reinforced tires burning rubber so loudly it was like having dear-old Daddy yelling at her again.

Driving, no matter the circumstance, was always thrilling to her. So, she focused on the excitement and joy she got from speeding down the highway instead of the slowly creeping fear in her heart.

Drop him off, you live. Drop him off, you live. Drop him off—.

She saw something in her side-view mirror. Something that was moving fast between the cars so far behind her. And once she got a better view of the fast-moving something, her eyes widen as she just barely made out _very_ familiar long blonde-hair that belonged to a girl she had seen before in a photo her boss had shown her and a bunch of other "lackeys." A girl her boss had warned her was, in his words, "way above your paygrade."

"Oh shit. A Huntress."

The moment she finished speaking, her passenger's eyes hardened.

* * *

She couldn't remember the last time she pushed her bike so hard before. Weaving through car after car while going three times over the speed-limit was pretty fun, honestly. Would've been even more fun if she wasn't busy trying to catch some thief who, surprisingly, wasn't Roman Torchwick.

With her hands tightly grasping the handlebars of Bumblebee, Yang Xiao Long raced down the highway; she and her passenger looked like blurs of yellow and black as her bike steadily got faster.

She had a feeling things would get crazy—lately, things always got crazy one way or another. Granted, chasing someone who stole from, what sounded like, hundreds of White Fang goons and Roman Torchwick himself, she'd give anything to see the look on that prick's face right now, wasn't nearly as crazy as some of the messes she'd gotten into since her little sis got to Beacon.

But driving down a highway full of cars while trying to get to a guy who apparently _slaughtered_ —Blake's words, not her's—a bunch of goons after somehow making a big-old Atlas robot disappear, she felt it was safe to say that, while maybe not the craziest thing she'd ever done, it was still dangerous.

"You good back there, Nep!?"

She had to shout for her passenger to hear her; the wind was ridiculously strong, and the only other sounds she could make out were her tires burning rubber.

"Good as I can be, Yang!"

She didn't turn around when Neptune screamed back his response. She just kept staring at the road ahead.

At the slick, black car that was barely fifty feet away from her.

She revved up the throttle, and her bike instantly accelerated, engine roaring as she went even faster. She sped in-between two cars and rocketed out the other side, the strong winds billowing her jacket.

From what Blake said over the phone, this guy wasn't messing around. Whoever this new thief was apparently didn't hesitate to end dozens of men from the White Fang. And from the slightly nauseous look on Sun's face and the edge in Blake's voice, whatever this new thief did to those goons wasn't pretty.

Behind her sunglasses, her eyes narrowed.

Whoever "Goldie" was—which was what Torchwick had called him after getting a flashbang to the face—he was someone that didn't have a problem with killing. She didn't get every detail, but she knew enough to know that this guy had tried to hurt her friends. He didn't even care that they weren't terrorist; he just threw some grenades at them and left.

She wasn't gonna let some jackass get away with trying to hurt her partner and Sun.

With wind colliding against her face at high speeds, her bike continued to swerve between the lanes of the highway. She was closing the distance, and with every spin of Bumbleebee's wheels, she got even faster. They couldn't use their weapons yet, they were way to powerful and the shockwaves from their blast might hit someone if they weren't careful. So, plan B was to get close enough to the car so Neptune could jump on it and try to get into the car and knock out the driver safely—shooting out the tires might cause the car to crash into other people, so this was the only other option they had. And she would be busy making sure that if Goldie tried to throw any grenades or anything else through the windows of his car, he would get a face full of Ember Celica's bullets before he even realized what was happening; because once she was close enough, she wouldn't have to worry about her Dust rounds hitting anyone but Goldie.

If nothing went wrong, their plan should get the job done. They would stop Goldie—and hearing that some brutal criminal with a nickname like that was kinda funny—and then, they would figure out who he was and what he did with the twenty-feet tall robot suit—.

As she got close to Goldie's car, she almost missed it; what with all the cars she had to dodge around and the intense high beams blurring her vision. But she could still see it.

She could still see the windows on the back seat of Goldie's car slowly lowering.

In an instant, she took one hand off her handlebars, cocked one of her gauntlets, and waited with narrowed eyes. With a quick glance, she saw that there were very few cars around her, and most of them were far enough away that she didn't have to worry about accidentally hitting them. She didn't know if Goldie could see her armed and ready for action, but if he did, then he better think twice before trying anything.

He would have to be the most overconfident jackass she'd ever seen if he thought he could make a move while she was—.

When the window completely lowered, something moved—a shape that was just hidden from the blue-glow of the barricades and the bright high-beams around her.

She threw her fist forward and fired. Orange and red sparks flew from her fist as her Dust rounds shot through the air and right towards the shape.

But then, something...surprising happened.

She thought the shape had just been Goldie's arm peaking over the window seat, like he was about to drop a grenade or something. But the shape hadn't been an arm.

Because for one, the dark shape she had seen was actually not a single shape, but three shapes all meshed together. Shapes that actually moved out of the way of her bullets once they saw them coming. Shapes that had wings and were flying right towards her.

And once they entered the light and out of the darkness, she could clearly make them out. And her eyes went wide.

What the—were those freakin' _hawks—!?_

A triple set of screeches broke through the roaring of tires on the highway, and she saw that the hawks had closed the distance between them and her almost instantly; their sharp eyes practically gleaming in the light of her headlights, wings flapping a mile a minute. She tried to cock her gauntlet to get another round in the chamber, behind her she could hear the sounds of Neptune's own weapon mecha-shifting into some other form, but the hawks flew to fast. The one at the head of the pack soared over her head, and not even a second later, she heard Neptune shouting. The hawk right behind the first one headed right towards her and, when it was only a few inches away, it swiped at her eyes with its sharp talons.

The bird might not have been able to pierce her aura, but getting a claw directly slashed into her eyeball still stung like a bitch. She let out a painful shout as her eyes reflexively clenched shut. She almost brought her hands up to try and get the damn bird off her, and it was not even close to done scratching her face yet, but she couldn't let go of Bumbleebee's handlebars. She was about to headbutt the damn thing, but then she realized she lost track of the third hawk; and the moment she had that thought, she felt something crash into her left hand.

Something that made her let go of her handlebar.

Something with enough force to completely turn her bike to one side and made her lose control.

It didn't take a genius to realize what crashed into her hand was the third hawk.

Bumblee started to spin out of control, the hawk on her face quickly flying off with a screech. She could now see herself and her bike veering to the left at high speeds. Right towards the cement walls and electric blue barricades on top of them that guarded the highway.

Her eyes widened. She was about to crash and go flying towards the blue barricades; those things might've looked transparent, but she knew damn well that crashing into something made of the same energy that Atlas used for their shield-tech was a bad idea. And since there was no way she could stop in time, she decided to take an alternate flight path.

In an instant, she jumped on top of her bike, spun around, and wrapped one arm around Neptune's waist—who had just managed to throw the bird off his face.

"Hold on!"

Despite how sudden her shout was, Neptune didn't even hesitate to act. And the moment she felt his arm wrap around her waist, she jumped of Bumblee, thrust her free-arm towards the ground, and fired shot after shot of dust round; sparks burst from her gauntlet and explosive booms rang through her ears as the force from each blast sent her hight into the air, just above the blue-static barricades.

But she had fired too many times; she never tried flying with a passenger before, so she didn't know how many shots she needed. All the force from her blasts had quickly added up, and once she sailed over the barricades, Neptune lost his grip on her, just like she did, and then she started to flip uncontrollably as her eyes widened. Because she might be able to control her fall, but Neptune—!

Not even a five seconds after she lost control of her flight, she felt something grab the back of her jacket. She heard metal shifting and an equally metallic shriek, and then her fall came to an abrupt stop. She turned her head around.

Neptune was flashing her a smile full of perfectly white teeth. His weapon was in its...sword form—okay, some type of blade-mode, but she couldn't remember what it was called—and was plunged firmly into one of the girders that made up the underside of the highway, bits of metal falling from the cracks and pelting her head.

"Gotcha."

His smile seemed to grow. She wouldn't lie, she was starting to see what Weiss liked about him.

"You know I had that handled, right?"

She gave Neptune a big smirk, not at all concerned that she was hanging hundreds of feet away from the ground.

"I know. But what kind of guy lets a lady waste her Dust?"

She knew Neptune was starting to have trouble holding her, his arms were shaking a bit, but his smile never wavered.

She chuckled.

"Just makin' sure."

Without wasting another moment, she started to swing her body back and forth. Neptune got the hint, and he let go of her once she reached the apex of one her swings. She then fired both of her gauntlets, backflipped in the air as she ascended, and—without even looking—fell back down and landed on the girder; there was just enough space that let her stand up without having to crouch.

"Need a hand?"

"Nah."

In an instant, Neptune swung around his weapon several times and then let go, flying high and just as quickly landing a few feet away from her. He then crouched down and pulled out his weapon with a strong tug.

She looked up. From their current spot, she couldn't see any part of the highway. Not that it really mattered right now, since Goldie was definitely long gone. But even if she and Neptune didn't stop him, they still had other options. Like her team's resident ice queen who should be waiting up ahead on an overpass.

With a frown, she took out her scroll, fingers already typing up the message she needed to send.

She wondered if Goldie had any hawks that liked the cold.

* * *

...Okay. So. That happened.

Charlotte Sapphire was doing her best not to stare at her passenger as he closed the window. The window that his birds had just left and had crashed into that Huntress.

Birds he had literally _created_ from God damn candy-bar wrappers under his seat. She was...she was pretty sure that violated a lot of physics. Hell, she was pretty sure that making inanimate objects into damn animals was something even Semblances shouldn't be able to do—.

"I was expecting more."

Her passenger's voice was low, head still turned around and looking out the car's rear window. Like he was expecting that blonde chick to be right behind them; she desperately prayed that wouldn't happen. She was still trying to process how the hell a man could make an actual animal out of God damn garbage, and the last thing she needed was to deal with more—.

She saw something on an upcoming overpass. It was a bit hard to see, but when she squinted, she saw someone standing right on the edge. Someone who looked like she was wearing white.

A _lot_ of white.

In her mind, she suddenly saw her boss waving around another picture at her and all her other colleagues. Someone just like the blonde chick she had just seen crash.

Her eyes went wide again. And then, she shouted.

"Oh, are you—!"

* * *

"—kidding me, Yang?"

Weiss Schnee finished reading the message Yang had sent her and let out an irritated sigh. Yang had the time to write puns—really, "Weiss-Cream" wasn't even that clever—yet she didn't even mention how exactly she had failed to stop..."Goldie"; really, that name sounded like one of Yang's puns. But, regardless of the man's name, Yang could've at least given her more context about what happened beyond, "watch out for birds."

Another sigh left her lips as she put her Scroll away.

If Yang didn't see a need to tell her the specifics, then they weren't important. What was important was the fact that a murderous criminal was still on the loose, still had valuable Atlas technology that they had to get back, and was heading towards her. Well, the road about a hundred feet below her, technically.

Her eyes were firmly locked on every car that passed underneath the bridge she stood on. She had yet to see the type of car "Goldie" was supposed to use, but he should be heading her way any second now. She wished her own team's leader hadn't decided to "take a break" after searching through business documents in the CTT tower and go wandering around Vale for a snack; cookies, most likely. If weren't for that, they would've been together when she received Blake's distressed call—something that was still surprising to her—and she would've had a sniper by her side, making it far easier to spot—.

She saw the car. It had just maneuvered around a pick-up truck ahead of it and was now speeding down the road; moving like a black blur as its wheels screeched so loudly she could hear it from her position on the bridge.

There was no more time for idle thoughts.

With Myrtenaster held out parallel to her chest, she focused her aura. She had to be careful; there were still other people driving on the highway, and for what she was about to do, one mistake could mean random pedestrians could get hurt.

A Glyph was starting to appear on the cement blocks she stood on.

Her timing had to be perfect. First, she had to use her repulsion Glyph to fly down to the street and then use an attraction Glyph while in mid-air to make sure she landed properly. Then she would have to slam Myrtenastrer into the ground, create an ice floor that would lead "Goldie's" car into the cement guards of the highway, quickly melt the ice so that no one else could slip on it, and then use yet another repulsion Glyph to send her away from any oncoming traffic. All while focusing her Aura into multiple sets of Dust near simultaneously.

Most would crack under that kind of pressure.

The Glyph was quickly growing, a bright white mark with a snowflake-like pattern that now encompassed her feet.

But not her. While perhaps a touch difficult, this was nothing she couldn't handle. Really, the only risk was that when "Goldie's" car crashed, the criminal might become severely injured. That is, if he didn't have Aura. And what kind of madman would steal from the White Fang and Roman Torchwick without having his Aura unlocked?

Her Glyph was releasing a faint white glow, and she channeled the proper amount of Aura into the other sets of Dust in Myrtenaster's chambers. In just a few seconds, she would move. Down at the highway, she could see the criminal's car getting closer, and the moment he got into a good enough range, she would end this—.

Even with numerous engines roaring everywhere on the bridge, she could still hear something screeching. Something that sounded very animalistic.

She blinked, lifting her head up towards the sky. There, she saw something heading towards her, flying so quickly that it was hard to make out what they were. But as they soared closer and closer, she realized they were...hawks? No, wait, falcons; the birds were too small to be hawks. And seeing how those hawks looked ready to tear something limb from limb, it was easy to tell that these were the "birds" Yang had warned her about.

She let out a scoff just as the falcons were about ten feet away from crashing into her.

Oh, please.

She pulled Myrtenaster back before thrusting it forward, impaling the first bird through the chest; she then quickly removed Myrtenaster, brought it up towards the second bird, which had been flying towards her chest, and stabbed it through its mouth—and with a simple flick of her arm, she parried the last falcon's swipe at her with its claws before she skewered it right between its eyes.

She had done all of this in one, fluid, strike. And the moment she took out Myrenstraer from the last dead falcon, blood spewed into the air from every bird's body at the same time, the falcons now falling to the ground without any signs of stopping. While she did feel a touch remorseful for ending the animals' lives—it wasn't like they knew any better—she still found it almost insulting that someone thought mere birds could defeat her in—.

She suddenly felt something slicing into her back.

And then intense pain.

She screamed. She could no longer focus on channeling her Aura to her Glyph, and it disappeared as she stumbled forward. Her right foot slipped off the edge, and she started to fall forward. But years of coordination training instantly kicked in; she pivoted on her remaining foot, threw her body as hard as she could to one side, and then she was able to save herself from falling over the bridge and instead fall right on top of the cement blocks face-first.

With a painful groan, she slowly pushed off the cement floor with one arm, the other reaching back towards her shoulder blade. And when she brought it back to her face, her eyes widened.

Because there was blood on her fingers. And now that she thought about it, she could feel something wet beginning to stain the back of her dress.

"What the—?"

* * *

"—hell?"

Charlotte Sapphire had honestly expected for that Schnee brat to jump from the overpass and land right on the hood of her car. But instead, she saw the same hawks from before, at least, she thought they were the same, attack the Schnee and _somehow_ overpower her.

Her car had already passed underneath the overpass and was speeding along the highway. With a glance at her rearview mirror, she saw her passenger staring at the rapidly vanishing overpass through the backseat window.

"I'm almost disappointed."

Wait, what?

She stared at her passenger, who was still facing her backseat window.

"Then again, I suppose I should be thankful."

Slowly, her passenger turned around, resting his head on the tinted-windshield.

"After all, It would be a shame if I had to end—."

He stopped talking, eyes instantly narrowing. She followed his gaze.

She saw an entrance ramp with a steep hill on her left. And just peaking out from that hill was a large truck. A truck that had people on top of it; two of them the exact same boy and girl Faunus she had seen back at the warehouse. But there was a third person there as well.

Someone dressed in all red.

Someone whose hood was flapping in the wind.

And someone who was looking right at her car as she held a big-ass sniper rifle.

For a moment—just for the one second that her car and the truck were side-by-side—she thought her passenger was staring right at that Huntress' silver eyes with his own deep blue. But she didn't really have much time to think about that.

Because she suddenly heard a loud bang. And then the window right next to her cracked as a high-powered bullet slammed into it.

Without any hesitation, she pulled her foot back and slammed on the accelerator as hard as humanly possible.

* * *

"Go!"

With Ruby's shout, Blake Belladonna ran right to the edge of the truck's trailer, and then leapt off it; Sun did the same, right by her side as they flew through the air before landing on the roof of a sport's car. She felt the highspeed winds crashing into her face as she stood up, but her Aura made it so she was barely affected by the gusts; otherwise, she would've had to worry about flying off into the road.

Her eyes were locked onto the slim black car that murderer was in as it raced down the highway. Ruby was firing off bullet after bullet from Crescent Rose right at the cars hood, windshields, and every other vital spot on its body—the car wasn't as damaged as it should've been from getting high-powered sniper bullets piercing its frame, so it must've been reinforced. But that didn't matter, because Ruby was only firing at the car so that "Goldie"—she really hated using that name—couldn't fight back without risking getting himself shot at; and since there were no other vehicles near his car, Ruby didn't have to worry about hurting any civilians.

She quickly glanced at Sun. He caught her gaze, and they both nodded before they sprinted towards the hood of the sports car and jumped off it at the same time. They soared through the air before landing on the back of a pick-up truck, the driver whirling around to face them, but they were already jumping over the roof and onto the speeding van a few feet to the right.

She was not going to let him get away. Not when he stole from the White Fang who knows what reasons. Not when he _slaughtered_ Faunus left and right while escaping.

"Goldie's" car was starting to weave around the lanes, accelerating and decelerating at random intervals every other second in an attempt to throw Ruby off her aim; it only somewhat worked.

It wasn't because the White Fang had been killed that made her so angry. It was because "Goldie" had been beyond merciless to the Faunus that he "fought." It was easy to see just how outmatched every man and woman he encountered was by the wounds on their bodies. By their severed limbs and horrified expression.

And then she saw him kill another Faunus when she was begging for her life, when it was clear that she was too terrified to fight back, by punching a hole through her chest without even blinking. It was at the moment that she realized exactly what kind of man she was dealing with.

A butcher.

She jumped over another pickup truck, and while in the air, she saw Goldie's car getting close as it continued to try and doge Ruby's bullets.

Whoever "Goldie" was, he was someone who didn't care about the lives he took. A murderer that would kill any person he wanted in the most ruthless way possible, and then, after moving on like the life he took hadn't mattered in the slightest, he would go onto his next victim. She had seen this type of person before—sometimes from the White Fang and sometimes from Atlas military—and almost every time, the person who was committing the murders could kill so easily because of a deep-seated hatred for an opposite race.

And considering how he was willing to use flashbangs on misguided Faunus the White Fang tried to recruit, flashbangs that could very easily damage a person, without any hesitation...

She jumped again, eyes narrowed as she was now roughly fifteen feet away from "Goldie"—every other car on the highway, including the one she was standing on, had realized that someone was actively shooting and had started to slow down dramatically.

...she wouldn't be surprised if the same applied to him.

"Sun, get ready!"

She didn't turn when she shouted over the intense winds, but she didn't have to know that Sun was still right by her side. Without another word, she took Gambol Shroud out of her holster, her weapon shifting into its gun form, and then both she and Sun leapt into the air; right towards "Goldie's" car. Ruby was still firing at the car, which was now dodging almost every bullet with quick swerves and weaves at incredibly fast speeds. But even with its hectic movements, she and Sun had a way to get on that car without any—.

The car suddenly stopped moving. Without any warnings, the wheels stopped turning, a loud screech now roaring throughout her ears.

And then, the car's tires came to life again, and in one swift motion, the car _turned around_ in the middle of the highway before accelerating in the opposite direction. Right towards the oncoming cars without showing any signs of slowing down.

* * *

Charlotte Sapphire was absolutely crazy to try this. But as she had been getting shot every other second from that girl-in-red and saw the goth chick and the blonde guy coming for her, she knew she needed to do something to lose them quickly. And since nothing she had tried was working, her brain had come up with a _brilliant_ plan.

Drive in the opposite direction.

So, following her sane, absolutely rational brain, she had turned her car around in a perfect circle, and then proceeded to race towards a bunch of unexpected, panicking, drivers. All while she tried her best not to scream as gripped the steering wheel so tightly her leather gloves bit into her fingers.

But, despite how crazy this idea was, it was still her best option.

She swerved around a black motorcycle just as it was inches away from hitting her headlights.

Because now that she and her passenger were surrounded by other cars again, if that sniper-bitch tried to shoot them, she would also hit some random asshole's car as well; and in her experience, Huntress didn't really like leaving a civilian body count.

She was suddenly face-to-face with a van—she swore she could see the whites of the driver's eyes—and she whirled the wheel all the way to the left, slammed the accelerator, and just dodged it as she entered a new lane.

It also meant that those two assholes from before were now eating pavement and getting run over; but, they were Huntsmen, they would be fine...probably.

She was about to slam into a sports car. A quick twist, push on the brakes followed by hitting her accelerator allowed her to spin around it. With another twist she dodged a pick-up truck. And then she whirled the wheel all the way to the right to dodge another van, and then move it to the left to dodge a damn trailer. It was taking every trick and skill she learned to weave through car after car, but she was doing it. So far, it looked like her crazy plan was actually going to—.

Even with all the cars honking, the tires screeching, and the breaks howling on the highway, she could still hear the loud thump that came from the outside of her car.

* * *

It was because of Sun's quick reflexes that he had used his Semblance almost instantly. It was because his clones had thrown her into the air as hard as they could that she was able to catch up with "Goldie's" car so quickly.

And as Blake Belladonna leapt from the roof a large SUV onto murder's car—even as it swerved through the lanes and other cars like a black blur—she thanked Sun for the chance he had given her; she also shot a glance back to make sure he was okay, and she saw that he was running from car roof after car roof to try and catch up with her.

The moment after she landed on "Goldie's" car, it swerved heavily to the right. She brought down Gambol Shroud's blade, which was now in its katana form, and it pierced the metal of the car's trunk; not as deeply as she would've like, but just enough to prevent her from going flying as she held onto her weapon's handle with both hands. The car then swerved again, this time going to the right before just as quickly turning to the left, and while the sudden force did cause the lower half of her body to go over the side, Gambol Shroud was unwavering, still firmly lodged into the metal.

She was only a few feet away.

With a swing of her legs, she was back on the trunk.

Just a few more feet, and she could end this.

The car veered around a speeding sports car that almost hit them. Her hands almost slipped off Gambol Shroud's handle, but she managed to grab it just in time.

She could take down this murderer, and then rest.

Shakily, she managed to stand up on top of the trunk as she slowly pulled Gambol Shroud out of the car.

And then she could finally deal with that Gods damned headache that had been getting so bad that she couldn't ignore it any longer no matter what she tried—!

She lifted her head.

And right on the center of the roof, "Goldie" stood tall, cold blue eyes glaring down at her. He was only a few feet away, hands in his pockets and lips in a firm line.

She glared back. The car was no longer swerving every other second, but now accelerating in a straight line since there weren't any other vehicles heading towards it. She heard the intense winds whipping through her hair, felt it prickle her Aura covered skin, but she ignored it just like she did for everything else around her.

She only focused on the butcher in front of her as he took his gloved hands out of his pockets. And she held out Gambol Shroud by her side.

No words were said; there wasn't any need to.

The butcher rushed towards her, closing the short distance in an instant as he threw a punch right towards her face. But it was sloppy; telegraphed. In an instant she focused on her Aura, channeling it towards the dust in Gambol Shroud as an image formed in her mind.

She took a single step back, now standing right at the edge of her the trunk as the butcher's fist got closer.

And then a perfect duplicate of herself appeared in the exact spot she stood a second ago. She saw the butcher's eyes widen just as his fist hit her copy. His fist that went _through_ her copy, what was once her face now a static-like black.

She pulled the trigger on Gambol Shroud. The static suddenly turned blue, reforming around the butcher's fist.

And her copy had suddenly become rigid as it turned to solid ice. The butcher's fist was now completely trapped in a block of ice shaped just like her own face as he let out a short scream.

She rushed around her ice-copy, Gambol Shroud pulled back towards her shoulder blades. She had him; he was trapped and there was no time at all for him to react. No matter what kind of Semblance he had, it wouldn't make any difference once she attacked. First, she would strike his neck, disorienting him, then his crouch, followed by a high kick to the temple, and then pin him down before knocking him out.

The butcher followed her movements, blue eyes narrowed as she got closer.

All she needed was to get in range, and then she would get this murderer back for—.

As she took another step towards the butcher, she tripped.

Her eyes went wide.

She tripped. Somehow, she hadn't seen _something_ on the floor, and was now falling forward without even a chance to see what exactly she tripped on.

Because the butcher saw her tripping, saw that she was unbalanced and vulnerable, and moved. In an instant, he ripped out his fist from her ice-copy, not even struggling slightly as blocks of ice pelted her skin.

"I warned you."

Even with the roaring gales of the highway, she could still make out the murderer's cold, almost lifeless, words.

And then he threw another punch. One that was heading right towards her face.

She tried to react. She tried to get regain as much balance as she before lashing out with Gambol Shroud. But her strike was shaky at best, lacking her usual grace and coordination, so her weapon just barely sliced into the clothing covering the butcher's forearm, a long cut now present on his skin as she saw blood leak from his sleeve.

And then his fist hit her left eye. She braced her self for the pain, teeth grit, and prepared to roll with punch the moment she felt it sink into her skin.

But the pain never came. Instead of following through with his punch, the butcher just...left his fist right on top of her eye.

She immediately saw her chance. She moved, Gambol shroud already raised for another slash and—.

She realized something.

She hadn't moved.

She wanted to, but she didn't. When she tried to move any of her limbs, they didn't respond in the slightest; not even twitching. It was like...it was like she just been paralyzed to the spot.

Her eyes—the only thing she could move—darted in every direction; though, she could only see out of one since the other was covered right now. She saw the bright lights of the highway, the glow of the barricades, and they all seemed _so_ much brighter than before; like giant spheres of light were suddenly burning her pupil. The cars around her had come to a complete stop, not one driver moving. Including the butcher's own, who also hadn't moved even an inch as his fist still laid on top of her left eye.

If they could've, her eyes would've widened by now.

What the hell was going!? Everything around her had just...stopped! This couldn't be a Semblance—nothing could be powerful enough to cause, what seemed like, the whole damn world to stop moving! This was—this was just impossible and—!

She suddenly felt something.

Intense pain.

She would've screamed if her lips worked, but since they didn't, all she could do was stay frozen as agony suddenly erupted within her left eye. And it only took a second to realize what caused it.

The butcher's fist.

It had moved just an inch—barely even that much—but she still saw it. All he had done was press his fist harder against his eye _slightly,_ and that had been enough for it to feel like her eye had just burst out of its sockets.

Every bit of breath left her body. Because—because if this butcher was the only thing that could move then that meant that this—all of _this_ —had been caused by him.

That meant the man could somehow freeze _everything_ around him.

And it also meant that right now, she was completely trapped.

She felt his knuckles dig into her eyeball, new pain exploding throughout her head.

Vulnerable.

His fist was moving faster now.

Helpless.

She felt blood pop form her eyeball; she could see bright red speck after bright red speck slowly leaving her face and erupting into the air.

And then the world went back to normal. She could hear the cars honking their horns and tires roaring. She felt the car beneath her feet moving at high speeds. She felt that her limbs were now free of the power that had locked them in place.

And she could now let out the scream that her throat had been trying to release for what felt like hours as Goldie followed through with his punch. Her body went flying off the car. In an instant, she was soaring through the air with no control whatsoever as her screams grew louder. But her flight came to an abrupt end.

Because her back had suddenly crashed into the side of a truck's trailer; hard enough to the point where she _felt_ the metal behind her cave in slightly as she heard something _crack_. Her body then bounced off the trailer, and she fell to the asphalt below.

But as she fell, she caught a glimpse of Goldie; the vision out of her left eye was beyond blurry, but she could still see his face.

And the cold, deep frown on his lips as the car he stood on suddenly turned around, engines roaring before it accelerated in the opposite direction. And with her head screeching so badly it was like an air-horn was going off in her mind, she hit the highway.

Wait, no; she didn't.

Just before she should've hit concrete, she instead hit a bunch of red rose petals.

* * *

No, no, no, no!

She was nothing but a spiraling cloud of roses mixed with black that flew through the air. She was soaring away from the highway—red and black fluttering in a pattern almost like petals in the wind—and headed to the ground below.

How—how did this happen!?

Just before she hit the ground, she canceled her Semblance, red and black bursting apart before fading out of the world. She landed on her back, holding onto Blake tightly as she slid along cold cement; she had carried people with her Semblance before, but they had been able to stand on their own two feet when she landed, unlike Blake. And the only way she could think of to make sure Blake didn't get even more hurt was to use her body to cushion her friend's fall.

This was—this was bad.

Once she stopped sliding, her Aura protecting her from any injuries, she sat up, placing the back of Blake's head onto her lap. Pulling her hood off her head, she looked down at Blake and her ugly, massive black-eye; the skin surrounding it a horrible shade of purple.

 _Really_ bad.

"Blake!? Blake!?"

She was shouting; eyes wide, fear consuming every part of her voice. She wasn't dumb enough to try shaking Blake awake, not when she was like _this._

Blake let out a small groan; but other than that, she didn't respond.

She clenched her teeth.

What happened!? They had been winning against Goldie! Then he suddenly started driving the wrong way to a bunch of innocent drivers, so she had to stop firing. She used her Semblance and went after him, saw Blake right on top of his car and trapping him in one of her Shadow's, and then—in a second—he burst free and _somehow_ landed a punch on Blake. And then Blake let out the biggest scream she had ever heard from her friend before she crashed into a truck.

"Come on Blake, please answer me!"

Still no response except for another groan. She felt her face starting to pale as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do.

How did Blake even get so hurt!? She should have plenty of Aura, so how did one punch hurt her so badly?!

Her Scroll was suddenly rining. She reached into her pocket, pulled it out, and saw Sun was calling her. She answered, putting her Scroll next to her ear.

 _"Ruby!? Ruby, what's going on!? Is Blake okay!?"_

It took her a second to get under control; and when she did, she let out a shaky breath before she answered.

"She—she's hurt Sun."

 _"What!? Shit, how bad!?"_

"I—I don't know! Her eye's really messed up, and I think she's unconscious bu-but—."

 _"Does she still have Aura!?"_

She looked down at Blake. And to her, it looked like her eye was getting worse.

Her heart started banging against her chest.

"I—I'm not sure! She should have plenty of Aura, but that guy somehow got through it! And I can't tell if she's healing!"

She heard Sun growl.

 _"Damn it, what the hell!? Blake had that blonde asshole on the ropes, but something happened—!"_

She didn't hear the rest of what Sun said. Because she suddenly heard Blake's voice.

"Ru-Ruby."

Her head whirled back to Blake, and she saw her friend's right eye slowly opening.

"Blake!"

She dropped her Scroll and lowered her head to Blake, her face only inches away from her friend's.

"Are you okay!?"

Blake didn't answer right away. She saw Blake's eye glance around, like she was having trouble looking at her, before she spoke; slowly, like it was taking everything she had to get the words out.

"He-head...hurts. A lot."

There was no way that was good.

"Bl-Blake, how's your Aura?"

She made sure that none of the fear or worry clawing at her heart showed in her voice as she spoke; she couldn't have Blake panicking like she was, after all.

Blake let out a small groan before she answered, her one good eyes glancing away from her and to an empty space to the right.

"It...it's still there."

Okay. Okay. That was something.

"I-is it healing _you?"_

"Ye-yeah. But...having trouble...concentrat—."

Blake didn't finish. she broke out into a fit of harsh coughs, and she saw spots of blood leaving her friend's mouth.

Her eyes went wide.

"Blake!"

She had to do something! But what!? She didn't have any medical supplies, and even if she did, she'd never been a doctor or—!

Wait, that was it!

Her eyes glanced around, and she found her Scroll a few feet away from her on the ground. She quickly picked it up and put back next to her ear.

 _"Ruby!? Ruby, are you there!? Ru—!?"_

"Sun, I'm here!"

When she finished shouting, she heard Sun sighing in relief.

 _"Oh thank God. Wait, what happened to Blake!?"_

She glanced down at her friend, who was still coughing. She bit her lower lip before she answered.

"She's awake, but she's pretty hurt. She says her Aura's still running, but I'm gonna call an ambulance just in case."

Yeah, they would know what to do. Definitely. Hopefully.

She could hear her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears as she let out a long breath.

"I need you to tell the others what happened. Tell them that _not to_ go after Goldie; he's long gone and we can't catch up to him. What matters right now is getting Blake help. Make sure everyone else is okay, and then meet up with me. Okay?"

She heard Sun let out several breaths; if he was anything like her, then he was probably trying not to have a heart attack.

 _"O-okay. I will. Just—just make sure Blake's okay."_

She stared at Blake as her friend let out another groan.

"I will."

She hung up her Scroll before quickly dialing 911. But as her Scroll started to ring, she looked up back at the highway.

This had gone so bad. She thought she planned for everything, but Blake still got hurt. Everything just went so _wrong._ One of her friends had gotten hurt. She could've even been—!

Her hands were shaking slightly as she stared at Blake's horribly bruised face. And for the first time in a while...Ruby Rose felt helpless.

* * *

Charlotte Sapphire stared at her passenger as he slowly came back into her car through the sunroof. The long, root-rope thing he had wrapped around his waist and had tied around the neck of her seat quickly shrunk, transforming back into a ten-foot-long roll of licorice—sue her, she liked candy. Her passenger then took the licorice off his waist before placing it back in the compartment of the car door.

And as he pressed a button to close the sunroof, the raging storm in her car quickly disappearing, she spoke.

"Yo-you..."

Her passenger was staring at her, an eyebrow raised.

"What?"

She slowly pointed a finger at him.

"You...one-shot a Huntress."

She could afford not to look at the road for now; there had been nothing but open space since she got away from that clusterfuck two dozen miles back. And she felt like it was perfectly fine to stare at the fact this man had just _beat_ one of the girl's that had stopped _Roman God damn Torchick_ several times in the last few months like she was _nothing_.

"Ah, I see."

Her passenger looked out the rear window, and she might not be able to see his face, he sounded like he was contemplating something.

"It wasn't that impressive."

Wasn't that—just what the hell did this guy do in his free time!? Kick Ozpin's ass?!

"First of all, that girl was a Huntress-in-training."

Her passenger stared back at her, raising a single finger.

"Second, I'm all but positive she had a concussion. She might've recovered fast enough from me tripping her to launch a counter attack if she didn't have one. Granted, I would have figured out some other way to deal with her if she did."

He raised a second finger. And she continued to stare at her passenger, eyes wide behind her glasses. Because what kind of damn _beast_ could make it sound like taking on Huntsman, the guys who literally train to take on the Grimm, wasn't anything he couldn't handle? What kind of man had the power to turn _god damn_ candy into actual living, breathing animals?

What exactly was her passenger; a man that could summon a _monster_ and who _chose_ not to use it against fully trained soldiers.

"Who the hell are you?"

Those words left her lips before she could help it. And the moment she realized what she said, she slapped a hand over her mouth before returning to face the road.

"So-sorry, forget what I said, please."

Damn it, she couldn't believe she said something that stupid. Like hell he was just gonna tell her his name just because she asked.

For a moment, she saw her passenger staring at her in her rearview mirror. But after a few seconds, he looked away and out his window.

"If that is what you wish."

She let out a tiny sigh, glad she hadn't pissed him off. Looking at the road ahead, she saw that one of the exits for the highway was coming up. And now that she had gotten them away from the Huntsman, it shouldn't be that hard to—.

She suddenly froze as she realized something.

She had gotten away from the Huntsman.

She glanced at her side view mirror, and she saw that there was no one following her.

She had somehow made it through literally the same girls that basically spat right in her bastard of a boss' face.

Her lips started to twitch.

She had literally been shot at, had a God damn Huntress on the back of her car, had to dodge literally dozens of different cars every two seconds, and yet somehow, didn't die. Which meant she was in the clear.

She tried to hold it back, she tried covering her mouth, but she couldn't stop it.

Throwing her head back as far as she could, she laughed. That awful, hitch-pitched giggle she hated ever since she was sixteen. There were honest-to-God tears forming in the corner of her eyes as she repeatedly slammed her hand on the wheel.

She did it! She actually fucking did it! Now all she had to do was drop her passenger off, and she could get back to her usual crappy life!

Her laughs got louder, and the tears were falling freely down her face.

"...Are you alright?"

She just managed to get enough control herself to turn around. Now facing her passenger, she saw he looked a bit concerned as he stared at her.

"I-I'm fine, I'm fine. Really."

She wiped the tears away from her eyes.

"I'm just _so_ glad I'm alive right—."

There was an explosion.

Her eyes widened as she saw about a hundred feet away a ball of fire erupt into the night sky. And from within that fire, she saw cars flying through the air; some going over the edge of the highway and some hitting the ground so hard she felt it shake.

Her passenger suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he looked ahead.

"What was—?"

This time there was a crash. Before she had a chance to slow down, a truck right in front of her suddenly veered to the right, crashing into the concrete barricades. The trailer that was attached to it suddenly fell to the side and headed right for her.

She turned the steering wheel as fast as she could as her car swerved to the left, just avoiding the trailer as it hit the ground. And from the way it had hit the street, it essentially made it impossible for her to go back the way she came.

She suddenly started to sweat. The breaths that left her lips were somewhat shaky as she saw that parts of the highway now had small fires scattered through the asphalt; fires that looked to be getting bigger as they raged and burned the road. And there were also a lot of upturned cars that were wrecked in every way imaginable; some of them even had people in them who were still alive, but not for long. Because the fires that consumed the cars were also burning them alive as they screamed.

She had to swallow down some vomit. This...this was not good. It was obvious that something had caused these cars to crash, but what—?

"Stop the car!"

She flinched as her passenger shouted. She glanced at her rearview mirror and saw his eyes were wide.

"Wha-what, why-!?"

"There is no time for questions, just stop the—!"

She heard it. That sound. That sound that promised death.

Her skin turned completely white.

It was like mirrors. Thousands and thousands of mirrors all crashing down at the same time on a floor that no one could see except for one person. No, except for one _demon._

With wide, terrified eyes, she glanced away from the rearview mirror.

And she saw pink and brown hair—cut perfectly down the middle—with streaks of white running through it.

She saw a pale pink eye and a brown eye staring right through her soul.

She saw _motherfucking Neopoiltain_ giving her that horribly large smile of hers that showed of her teeth as she stood on the hood of her car; the umbrella in her left hand billowing in the wind.

...She should've kept her mouth shut.

"Fuck me."

That was it. Those two words would be the last thing she would ever say.

Because the moment she stopped talking, without even giving her the time to scream, Neopolitian took out the blade within her umbrella, stabbed forward, broke the windshield of her car into a million pieces, and then pierced her God damn heart.

She coughed blood.

And her car spun out of control.

 _To Be Contniued~_


End file.
